


Take the Long Way Home

by Little_Cinch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Abuse, Angst, Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 68,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7179710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Cinch/pseuds/Little_Cinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Angels are bound to human bloodlines, living their long lives protecting the humans in their care. But when a binding ritual goes wrong, one lone fledgling must struggle to survive and find a place for himself in a world where he doesn't belong. Non-romantic Destiel. Rating for language and dark themes.</p>
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	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **HUGE thanks to Mr. Cinch, Mama Cinch, Vickih, Kiraboo, and Steve-o the Arsonist for the VAST amounts of beta help with this story! You guys are beyond awesome, and I cannot thank you enough. This is my very first AU ever, so I needed lots of hand-holding.**
> 
> **Disclaimer: Obviously, Supernatural does not belong to me. This is for fun, not profit.**

**August 12, 1958**

Hannah closed her eyes and forced herself to rest. She would need all her strength to cross safely to the otherworld and back. She took in a long, deep breath. The comforting scents of binding herbs and oils filled the air, bringing so many memories to the surface.

In her almost three centuries, Hannah had lived a good life, an honest life, serving and protecting the Winchester family. So many generations had come and gone. So many other angels had been brought forth in this building, and others like it, to protect the many branches of the bloodline as it split and grew. But the years, though kind, still passed, and Hannah knew she would soon reach the end of her long life. The fledgling they would raise up and bind today would stay by her side, learning and growing, until the day she died, after which it would take her place protecting the Winchesters.

She glanced over to Henry, who was bustling about the room, making the final preparations for the ceremony. The candles provided a warm light, glowing over the aged but well-tended wooden floors of the binding room, but failing to penetrate the darkness deeply enough to see the vaulted ceiling. Henry clicked his tongue as he worked, betraying his nervousness despite all the research and preparation he'd done. Raising an angel was difficult and dangerous, and he'd never participated in the ceremony before. She smiled softly as she watched him, her mind drifting fondly back over memories of him throughout the years. Of course she loved him, as she did all Winchesters. But from the day he was born, Henry had always been special to her.

“It's almost time,” she said softly. “Everything is ready?”

Henry's eyes flicked rapidly over the sigils drawn on the floor. He glanced to the herbs and candles on the altar, at the parchments with the incantations, and at the silver knife and bowl in the center of it all. “It's ready.” He blew out a steadying breath. “I'm ready.”

Hannah rose to her feet and approached the altar. As she stepped over the devil's trap on the floor, she felt the tug of its power slipping against her grace, unable to find purchase, repelled by the binding magic that fused her grace to the Winchester line. She spoke the first part of the incantation, a long, complex passage in Enochian so old it was barely recognizable to a speaker of modern Enochian. Henry lit the candles on the altar and picked up the silver blade, ready to do his part the moment she returned.

Spreading her ethereal wings wide, Hannah drew power through her bond with the Winchesters, just enough to get her to the other side and back. She directed the power through her wings, her link to the non-physical plane of the otherworld. Working delicately to avoid detection by the innumerable demons there, she flitted her awareness through the link until she found what she sought in the ether – a strong, healthy fledgling.

The instant she found him, she forced her way through the barrier into the otherworld, snatched the fledgling, and vanished, allowing herself to be snapped back to the binding room by the sigils surrounding the devil's trap on the floor. In the split second she was on the other side, she had heard the keening screech of demons – she'd been seen. They wouldn't have much time now.

She reappeared before the altar, arms clamped tightly around the shrieking child as he fought her. One of his wings slipped free and she struggled to contain the wildly flapping appendage before he could disrupt the altar.

“Now, Henry! We have to hurry. They're coming!” The fledgling clawed and bit like the animal he was, straining to free himself. He was strong for one so small, but even at her venerable age, Hannah was stronger. He was but a demon and a child, and she was an angel, after all.

Henry had flinched and frozen at her reappearance with the screaming boy, but responded to her command immediately. He began reading from the parchment, tossing herbs into the silver bowl as he chanted. As he uttered the last words of the spell, he sliced open the meaty part of his palm and trickled blood over the herbs in the bowl.

“Blood of the earth to anchor you in the physical plane.” Henry's voice shook, but his hands remained steady.

Hannah shifted the struggling child to one arm and gripped one of his hands, prying the fingers open, and holding it above the bowl. For the first time, Henry looked reluctant rather than nervous, but only for an instant. The demon child gave an ear-splitting scream as Henry sliced open his hand as he'd done to his own.

“Blood of the otherworld to take of the ether.”

The child's blood dripped into the bowl, mixing with the herbs and Winchester blood, beginning the bond that would link the fledgling to the human bloodline and change him from demon to angel.

Hannah held her palm over the bowl. Her blood and the second Enochian evocation would finish the binding to the human bloodline, allowing the newborn angel to straddle the separation between the worlds – able to live permanently in the physical world, but still able to cross to the otherworld.

But before Henry could add her blood to the bowl and finish the ceremony, the binding room erupted in chaos as multiple demons burst through the barrier, howling obscenities and brandishing blades. Their enormous, black, flapping wings made the six or seven demons seem like dozens. Most of them materialized outside the devil's trap, but one appeared within it.

“He's mine, angel! You will _not_ have him!” the demon screamed.

The demon lashed out with her wings, destroying their carefully assembled altar and flinging Henry outside the relative safety of the trap.

“Henry!”

Hannah lunged forward, drawing her angel blade. The demon was fast, flinging herself against the trap's barrier to dodge Hannah's strike and rebounding with a lunge of her own, forcing Hannah to drop the wailing fledgling to keep him from harm and deflect the blow with her blade. The demon snatched up the child, who clung to her, sobbing.

“It's too late, demon,” Hannah snapped. “He's already been bound!”

“No!” the demon hissed. Looking down at the boy, her face contorted with hatred. “NO!”

She shoved the boy away and threw herself at Hannah with a howl, but in her rage, she was careless. Hannah feigned to the right and buried her blade deep into the demon's chest.

Before she could retrieve her weapon, something heavy struck her from behind, knocking her to the floor. Henry had been thrown into her by one of the other demons still circling the trap.

“Hannah!” Henry's face was nearly unrecognizable under the blood and swelling.

Instinctively, Hannah reached out to him, touching a relatively unscathed bit of skin on his cheek and sending a brief and thoroughly insufficient surge of healing energy into him. Henry rolled off of her and to his feet, the short silver knife still in his hand.

For nearly two whole seconds, nothing happened. The six living demons were on the outside of the devil's trap, while the angel, the human, and the fledgling were untouchable within. But then one of the demons managed to split the wooden floor with a shrieking snap, breaking the ward and all six of the beasts howled and attacked.

Henry – brave and kind Henry – bellowed his own challenge and charged into their midst before Hannah could stop him. He died almost instantly, and Hannah was thankful for the small mercy of his broken neck as two of the demons tore into his body in their fury. She knew she wouldn't survive this fight, either. There were too many of them, and she was too weak. So in the instant between Henry's death and Hannah's own, she made a choice.

Henry was dead, but there was one more Winchester. She threw herself toward the terrified fledgling who was clinging to the dead demon, and drew every bit of power she could from Henry's young son. John was only a boy, but he gave her enough strength to protect the fledgling. Just as the raging demons reached her, she got a hand on the newborn angel and _shoved_ him away. She didn't know where she'd sent him, but as she died, she hoped desperately that it was far enough away to keep him safe.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**August 12, 1958 – October 2, 1958**

Castiel landed hard and tumbled roughly over the ground. He scrambled on all fours to the nearest object and hid beneath it, wrapping his wings tightly around himself. A sharp pain lanced into his shoulder from his left wing, but terror blurred it until it was little more than a vague awareness in his mind.

It had happened. His makers, his family – they'd told him the stories, like they told all children, but he hadn't really believed. Not truly.

Angels. Monsters who came and stole children away to earth, never to return.

Grief and pain choked him. The angel took him away, tore him from his home and through the barrier. The angel and the human had hurt him – done something to him that he could feel deep down inside. And when his maker had come to get him back, the angel had killed her.

Fear was the only thing keeping back the sobs as he thought of her there on the ground with a blade buried in her heart and fluid pooling around her.  ' _Blood_ '. The word whispered through his mind. He'd crawled to her, tried to wake her, but she was dead.

When the angel lunged at him again, Castiel thought he was dead, too. But instead, he'd felt a sickening force shove against him, and then he'd hit the ground hard in this new place. He peeked out from behind his wing, but there was little to see. It was dark. It was cold. Upright objects stood like sentinels all around him. The thing under which he hid was similar, but shorter, and pricked at his feathers with its stiff finger-like protrusions.

' _Trees_ '. ' _Bushes_ '. ' _Branches_ '.

The strange words filtered into his mind. He accepted them without question.

Wherever he was, he was still on earth.

Demons couldn't stay on earth – even the strong ones couldn't hold themselves to the physical plane for very long before they were yanked back home, and Castiel wasn't strong. The angel had brought him through, so maybe that's why he was still here. But the angel hadn't followed him to this place. If he stayed hidden, the ether should pull him home soon, even if the rest of his clan couldn't find him.

And so he waited, shivering and afraid until the darkness turned to gray haze. No one found him. And he didn't go home.

The gray gradually brightened off to his left. A blinding light suddenly broke through, and he squeezed his eyes tight.

' _Sun_ '.

These words. Where did they come from? Castiel didn't know, but it was strangely comforting to have names for these unfamiliar things.

As the sun moved higher, beaming its light onto his body, the cold left him. He stopped shivering.

Slowly, he unfurled his wings, whimpering as the pain in his left wing flared, worse than before. Here on earth, he had a physical body, and it hurt everywhere. Sounds pressed relentlessly into his ears. Light and tears burned his eyes. Cold air scraped its way down his throat as his body was forced to breathe. He could feel the beat of his heart, feel the blood surging beneath his skin.

He hated it.

Castiel considered what to do. Still no one had come, angel or demon. If his family didn't find him, and he wasn't pulled back by the ether, then he was alone. He was lost.

He would die.

Demons fed on the life energy of humans. Without his makers to provide that for him, his only option would be to hunt humans himself. But how? He was small. He had no weapons. He had no training or experience. He didn't even know how to find a human.

Tears blurred his vision again.

He wouldn't give up. Folding his wings back as best he could, he climbed carefully to his feet. Flat crispy things (' _leaves_ ') and a brown powder (' _dirt_ ') clung to his skin. The cut on his palm hurt, all clotted up with the same leaves and dirt along with his blood. The blood of his maker was smeared over his arms and chest. She had died trying to retrieve him, so he would find a way to survive until he could get home. Somehow.

* * *

Castiel quickly learned how to keep himself hidden from the living things he encountered. Within a few rises and sets of the sun, he'd found his way to a place (' _town_ ') where there were people – both humans and angels. Seeing so many of the monsters set him trembling with fear, but necessity kept him there. He needed to kill a human, so he needed to learn about them. He stayed far out of sight, but he watched them every chance he could get, his curiosity eventually overpowering his fear.

Humans looked much like angels, but they didn't carry the halo of energy that emanated from angels. And neither humans nor angels had wings. It made no sense. Castiel shied away from the memory of his abduction at first, but he knew the angel that had taken him had wings. He saw them when she first appeared, shimmering white and terrifying. But when he thought about afterward, when the angel killed his maker, the white wings weren't there.

Castiel's wing slowly healed. He practiced flying in little jumps, getting used to the strange sensation of physical wings. He kept hidden in shadows – of trees, of buildings, whatever he could find. He learned where to find humans and when. He learned where angels were most likely to be and avoided those places.

The most fascinating things he saw in his observations were the human spawn. Humans had children, too, it seemed, in all sizes. He wondered what it would be like to be a baby monster.

Suddenly, he knew what to do.

He followed children to the places they clustered like schools, parks, and ice cream parlors. He waited for the right moment, so he could be certain he wouldn't be seen. Finally, an opportunity came. He crouched on a low branch of a tree at the edge of a yard. Behind a large house, a wide expanse of grass was dotted with flower beds, a rusty metal swingset, and many abandoned toys. A child played in a pit of sand. It was smaller than him, but not by much. An adult sat on a woven chair on the deck with a book. Castiel watched until the adult put the book down and went inside the house.

In an instant, Castiel was beside the child. He grabbed it by the wrist and flew immediately to the middle of a wooded area well outside the boundaries of the town. When he landed, the child stiffened in shock. It stared at him, confused. Then it began to wail.

Castiel shoved the child to the ground. He had to kill it. If he didn't, he would die.

He straddled the squirming, shrieking creature and wrapped his hands around its neck. He had to kill it. He would break its neck and take its life energy.

But he didn't.

Couldn't.

He looked down into the red, screaming face of the child, and relived his own terror from the day the angel took him. Did this child feel the same fear at being stolen away from its makers?

Before he could consider the consequences, Castiel yanked the child to its feet and flew them back to the yard he'd taken it from. He dropped the child there, barely appearing in the sand pit long enough to release it before flying back to his branch in the tree at the edge of the yard. After a moment, the adult human rushed from the house to gather up its screaming offspring. The child clung tightly to the adult as she took it inside.

Just as Castiel had clung to his maker when she came to rescue him from the angel.

Castiel stared at the house and the yard long after the humans had retreated inside. He hadn't killed the child, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do so in the future. Tears stung his eyes, and he blinked them away. In allowing the thing to live, he had condemned himself to death.

At least then this would all be over.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**November 29, 1982**

“It's okay, Dean, honey. He won't hurt you. Angels protect people – you know that. And you've met Gabriel before, remember?”

Dean clung to his mama's leg in the doorway to the kitchen and peeked out at the stranger. Dean definitely did _not_ remember. But he did know that angels were good, and Mama said this one was the Campbell family's angel, so maybe it was okay. He inched out from behind Mama and looked at the angel more closely. He didn't really look like the pictures in the books his mama and daddy read to him.

“Your halo is funny. It's all wiggly,” Dean announced at last. “It doesn't look yellow like in my book.”

The angel laughed and crouched down on the linoleum so he was closer to Dean's size. That felt better. Safer.

“No, Dean-o, it's not yellow is it? Halos don't really have colors. But I think your book is as close as they've figured out how to draw them.”

“Can I touch it?”

“Dean! Don't be rude,” Mama said.

But the angel – Gabriel – smiled up at her. “It's okay, Mary. He's three whole years old and hasn't touched a halo? Kid ain't lived yet!”

“I'm almost four!” Dean shouted, holding up his fingers to show Gabriel in case he didn't know. “When I'm four, my new baby brother or sister will get born!”

“Now, love, you know the baby won't be born for a while after you turn four.”

Dean sighed. “I knowwww, Mama.”

Gabriel shifted to sit criss-cross on the floor and made a pouty face. “You know, I'm feeling a little neglected over here. Did you forget about my halo or what?”

“NO! Mama, can I?” He grabbed her pant leg and yanked back and forth.

She put a gentle hand on his head to still his movements. “Yes, Dean. Gabriel said it was okay.”

Dean jumped full-on into Gabriel's lap, but he didn't seem to mind like Daddy sometimes did. He grabbed Gabriel's shirt and pulled himself up to look at his halo. It was weird. “I can see it, but it's not there. _Is_ it there? Is it really real?”

“Mmm,” Gabriel shrugged. “Touch it and see.”

Dean let go with one hand to reach up and carefully stick his finger where the halo seemed to be. With a shriek of laughter, he yanked his hand back. “It tickles!”

Gabriel's eyes went wide. “It _does?_ ” He grabbed both of Dean's hands and clapped them to the sides of his head.

Dean squealed and laughed, trying to wiggle away, but Gabriel held his hands in place while making funny faces. “No tickles!” Dean yelled. “Don't! Stop!”

“What was that?” Gabriel asked. “Don't stop? Okay, I won't!”

“Nooo, Gabriel! No tickles!” Dean kicked and struggled and was laughing so hard he almost couldn't talk.

“Ohhhh, _no_ tickles! My mistake, Deanerino!” The angel let go of his hands and Dean tumbled away from him, but seconds later, he was climbing right back up onto Gabriel and poking experimentally at the halo.

“So what do you think, little man? Is it real?” the angel asked.

Dean nodded hard. “Yeah! Can you feel me do this?” he asked as he flapped his hand near Gabriel's ear.

“Yep. But not the same as you feel this,” Gabriel answered and tweaked Dean's nose with his fingers. “It's energy, not flesh.”

“That's weird!”

Gabriel grinned. “I suppose it is.”

Dean perked up. “Can you really fly?”

“Yup!”

“Can you fly me?”

“Dean...” his mama warned.

Gabriel shrugged and made a face. “I can, but it's not like birds fly. Or Superman. To you it would feel like you were here one second and there the next.”

“Oh,” Dean said, disappointed. He wanted to fly like Superman. “Do you have wings then?”

“Sure do!”

“Can I see?”

Gabriel clucked his tongue. “Sorry, kiddo, but I'm afraid they're invisible. People can't see angel wings.”

“Oh. Okay.” Dean squinted at the angel's face. “Your eyes are a funny color.”

“Gee, thanks, kid,” Gabriel chuckled.

Dean whirled around to point at Mama. “Mama's eyes are blue, and Daddy's eyes are brown, and my eyes are green!” He turned back around and opened his eyes really wide so Gabriel could see. “Yours are kind of orange.”

He turned on Gabriel's lap and flopped back against him. Angels were warm. When they weren't tickly, that is.

“Were you really Mama's angel when she was little?”

“Sure was. And her daddy's before that.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Wow, you're old!”

His mama sighed. “Dean...”

But Gabriel laughed. “Kid, you got no idea.”

Mama leaned against the doorway with her hands on her round belly. She looked tired. “Dean, I think it's time we let Gabriel get going, okay? Angels don't have much time to play – he has a lot of work to do.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed. He turned on the angel's lap and wrapped his arms around his neck despite the tickly halo. “Bye, Gabriel!”

Gabriel hugged him back. When he let go, Dean discovered he had a Tootsie Roll in his hand. He looked wide-eyed at the angel who just winked. Then Gabriel got to his feet and ruffled Dean's hair. “Bye, Dean-o! See you around!”

And then he just disappeared! There was a fluffy noise and some wind and he was gone. That might be even better than Superman. “Whoa!” Dean shouted, then laughed and jumped in circles around the kitchen.

“See, I said you would like him,” Mama said.

“Yeah, he was nice!”

Mama kneeled down in front of him and took his hands. He kept the left one in a tight fist so she wouldn't find out he got candy. She'd make him wait to eat it until after dinner. Mama's eyes flicked to his fist briefly before she smiled and said in her important-voice, “Remember, Dean, Gabriel watches over our family. Don't bother him just to play – he's very busy. But if you ever really need help, you can pray for him.”

“I 'member,” he nodded enthusiastically.

As soon as she let him go, he bolted up the stairs to his room. Quiet as he could, he unwrapped the Tootsie Roll and stuffed it in his mouth. When Gabriel first got there, Dean wasn't so sure about him, but Mama had been right. Angels were nice.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**June 17, 1983**

“Mama, how come Daddy doesn't have an angel?” Dean jumped from block to block on the sidewalk. The cracks break your mother's back, and Dean would never do that.

Beside him, Mama pushed Sammy's stroller. They'd brought him home from the hospital ages ago, and Dean liked being a big brother, except they hadn't gone to the park since then. Today Mama said they could go for a little bit so Dean could 'burn off the crazy'.

“Hand,” she said. Dean automatically reached over to put one hand next to hers on the stroller. They were at a corner, so Dean had to walk, not jump or run, but he did step really big to make sure he didn't touch any cracks.

After they made it to the other side of the road, she finally answered his question. “Not everybody has an angel. And sometimes things happen. When Daddy was little, his family had an angel named Hannah, but there was an accident. Daddy's daddy and Hannah were both killed, and she was the last Winchester angel.”

Dean forgot about the cracks. “But angels can fix you if you get hurt, can't they?”

“It's true, they can. But they can't heal everything, and they can be hurt, too.”

He didn't like that at all. “What about Gabriel? Can he get hurt?”

Mama stopped walking. She crouched down to kiss his forehead, then looked into his eyes. “I know it's scary, love. Yes, even Gabriel can be hurt, but don't worry. He's a tricky little angel. Nothing's going to happen to him. And don't worry about Daddy, either. Even though he can't heal him, Gabriel will watch out for Daddy, too.”

Dean looked up at her, making sure she really meant it. Finally he nodded. She gave him another kiss and they started off toward the park again, but he stayed close enough to her side that he could cling to the hem of her shirt as they walked.

About a hundred hours later, he could finally see the park up ahead, and Dean forgot about angels. “Mama, can we go to the pond like I did with Daddy? Please, please, can we? Last time there were polliwogs, and Daddy said they turn into _frogs!_ ”

“Maybe after we're done at the playground. How's that sound?”

“Okay!” Dean shouted. They had reached the grassy edge of the park, which meant he was allowed to run to the playground because there were no cars. He took off running and didn't stop until he got to the rocket ship, which was his favorite thing to play on because you could go inside and it didn't go up too high.

When he got to the top, he stuck his head out and looked around until he saw Mama sitting on one of the benches in the shade. He yelled until she looked up and waved to him.

He played for a long time, sometimes by himself and sometimes with other kids, even though he didn't know them. Sammy was too little to play.

“Mama?” Dean was out of breath as he ran up to her bench. “Will you help me?” He held up his shoes that he'd taken off when they got full of sand.

“Sure, baby,” she said, taking the shoes and shaking them out. He sat on the bench and stuck his feet out so she could help him back into them, tying the laces up snugly. “Okay, Dean, I need to change Sam's diaper. Will you be all right playing while I go do that? I'll be in the bathroom right over there if you need me.”

“Yeah, Mama!” He raced away again, aiming for the slide this time.

When he got to the top of the slide's ladder, some movement caught his eye way over in the trees by the pond. There was a kid over there. He looked really little, too.

Without a second thought, Dean slid to the bottom and ran over toward the pond. But when he got closer to the trees, he couldn't see the kid anymore. He went almost all the way to the water's edge, but the boy was gone. Maybe he'd gone back to the playground.

As Dean started to turn back, he heard a splash. He looked out over the pond and saw circles rippling in the water. Fish! Daddy said that was fish that made those. Squinting, he tried to see it, but all he saw was the sky shining in the water.

Off to his right was the wooden foot bridge that went out over the water to the island way out in the middle of the pond. He'd been over there before with Daddy, but wasn't supposed to go by himself. For a second he hesitated. He wasn't supposed to be by the water by himself at all.

But there were fish! And Mama said they could go after he was done at the playground. He'd just go onto the bridge, not to the island. He just wanted to see the fish.

So Dean ran along the water's edge and onto the bridge. He thumped across the wooden planks until he was close to where he thought the splash had been. He peered through the railing, but he couldn't see anything at all.

Another splash! He could almost see it down below. He climbed up onto the first rail and grabbed the second. Hauling himself up, he leaned as far as he could to see the ripples fading in the water below.

As the ripples died, he could see his reflection way down in the water. Suddenly he realized how high up he was and froze in fear. The water was dark and so far down, it made him dizzy. Something moved over at the water's edge, and he looked up to see the boy he'd spotted earlier. But his sudden movement made his foot slip, and he lost his grip on the railing. He hit the water almost before he knew he was falling, and it was _cold!_ He went all the way under and stayed there. He flailed his arms and legs, all memories of learning to dog paddle erased in his panic. He'd never been in water before where he couldn't touch the bottom. Finally his face broke the surface and he gasped in a breath.

But there was something wrong with his feet. They were getting heavy, pulling him down. He struggled, but the water closed over his face again. He'd never been so scared before. He needed to _breathe!_

One instant, he was in the cold, dark water, with a terrible pain in his chest. The next, he was on his back in the bushes on the muddy shore, coughing up water. Someone was with him. Dean's chest hurt really bad, and he couldn't stop coughing. The boy placed a hand on his chest, and Dean took a huge gulp of air – the pain was gone.

The boy. The boy from the trees was on his knees beside him, staring down at him with huge blue eyes. Dean blinked hard to clear his vision, but the boy was still there, filthy and wild looking. And...he had a halo. The boy had a halo like Gabriel's! But he also had wings. Great big, black wings.

The boy – the angel – looked up sharply in the direction of the playground, then back down at Dean. As he stood, the black wings spread wide, and with a whoosh of air, he was gone.

“DEAN!”

“Mama?” he whimpered, turning toward the voice.

“Dean! Oh my god, Dean!” His mama was running toward him, with a wailing Sam clutched tight to her chest.

Dean sat up just as she crashed to her knees in the mud beside him. She threw her arm around him, squeezing him so hard, he couldn't breathe, just like when he was under the water. Terror came back all in a rush, and he burst into tears, grabbing fistfuls of her shirt. He cried harder than he ever remembered crying before, sobbing into her chest.

Mama grabbed his shoulder and held him out, even though he still clung to her shirt. “Oh, baby, you scared me half to death! Don't ever do that again!”

She pulled him back into a hug, but more gently this time, and held him until his shakes and howling sobs settled down to sniffles.

“Baby, what happened? You know you're not supposed to be down here. How did you get in the water?” she asked softly.

“I saw a boy,” Dean sniffed. “He was by the pond, but then there was a fish, and I falled in, and then, and then...he was an angel and he brought me out.”

“Gabriel? Gabriel saved you?”

Dean frowned. He'd forgotten. If he needed help, he was supposed to ask Gabriel. He shook his head. “The boy was an angel with a halo and wings and he saved me.”

Mama's hand had been petting his hair, but it suddenly stopped. “Sweetheart...if there were wings, he couldn't be an angel.”

“He was, too. He had a halo like Gabriel's and black wings. I saw.”

Mama was quiet after that, just holding him and Sammy and rocking them both.

Since he'd forgotten about praying, Dean was glad the little angel had helped him like Gabriel would have. But even though he'd saved him, and he was even littler than Dean, when he'd stood up and spread those huge wings, the wild looking angel had been a little bit scary.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**October 3, 1958 – June 19, 1983**

Castiel found a quiet place near the river outside of the town. Unwilling to hunt the humans anymore, he settled into the grasses, leaning against a smooth barked tree and watched the river instead. He watched the flowing water and listened to the wind in the leaves and waited to die.

Days passed. Lots of them. Castiel grew more confused as each one went by. He didn't know how long it took to starve, but it seemed he should at least be growing weaker. Instead he felt the same as he always had since the day he'd been dragged here.

More days went by, getting colder as they went. Castiel still lived.

For a long time, he was angry. Furious with everything about his situation. He hated the angel that brought him to this horrible place and killed his maker. He hated the human that had cut him, leaving him with a scar on his palm. He hated all the other humans and angels just for being monsters. And most of all, he hated that he didn't die.

Days got colder still, and rain and snow fell.

Castiel began watching the town again. He had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. From watching the people, he'd learned how to keep himself warm when the temperature dropped. He stole unattended pants and shoes and mittens. He couldn't wear shirts or coats like humans, though. His wings didn't allow for it, but his feathers were enough to keep him warm without them.

The snow melted, and eventually he discarded the shoes and mittens. He preferred his fingers and toes to be free.

One day, long after the days had grown hot again, he went back to the yard with the sand pit. He hadn't really planned to, but when he found himself there, he stayed. Late in the afternoon, the child he'd stolen and nearly killed appeared through the back door of the house and ran out into the grass to play.

Castiel blinked. That couldn't be right. The child had been smaller than him, but he was almost certain it was larger than him now.

In a flash, Castiel flew to his nest by the river to find his shoes. He put them on. They felt the same as they had in the winter.

He hadn't grown in all this time. Whatever was keeping him from starving was also apparently keeping him from growing up.

* * *

Winter came again, then summer. Winter. Summer. On and on and on it went, and Castiel stayed small. It was impossible, but it was his life all the same. He missed the ether. He missed home. It felt like a great aching hole in his heart when he thought of his makers. For a long time, he just stayed hidden in his nest, watching the river during the day and crying miserably during the nights. He was invisible, forgotten. Sometimes he wondered if loneliness could kill him, it hurt so much.

Eventually, Castiel left his nest. He couldn't stand to spend another minute there.

He learned he'd been living in a place called Kentucky, and once he realized there was so much more to earth than just this town, he began wandering, flitting through town after town. Exploring forests and deserts and mountains. Though he was still terribly lonely, it was easier to bear when he kept moving.

More winters. More summers. So many more, he lost track.

Castiel was exploring the beautiful, snow packed peaks of the Sierra Nevadas when a strange shock went through his body. It started in the back of his neck and arced under his skin all the way out to the tips of his wings and down to his frozen toes. The odd sensation hadn't hurt, but it was startling, and unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

But that wasn't quite true.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the icy mountain air ran down Castiel's spine. He rubbed his thumb into the palm of his other hand, digging into the scar that was still visible there after all these years. The day he'd been ripped away from his home and abandoned in a strange world, the monsters had done something to him. Changed him. And the shock he'd just experienced felt just the same.

He rubbed harder at the scar and wished it were erased. He wished none of this had happened. He wished he could just go home.

A twinge in his chest. He looked to the east.

Shaking off the accumulated snow that had fallen on his wings, Castiel flew eastward to nowhere in particular. He was uncertain where the urge had come from and now it was gone. When the feeling didn't return, he chose to dismiss it as a fluke, though it left him unsettled.

Castiel continued his wandering as he'd done for so many years now. Occasionally, the urge to go _somewhere_ would strike him. He was never able to determine where exactly he was supposed to go, until one day four summers after the first shock, the need to _stop_ hit him like a blow to the chest. The twinge he'd felt before grew much stronger, drawing him irresistibly toward a town in Kansas called Lawrence. He snooped through the town, trying to determine what drew him here, but it seemed no different from any other.

He stayed. The pull grew more urgent, so he continued to search, growing more frustrated by the day.

At last, he landed in a park in the northern part of town. The park was important. There was something here, he was sure. It seemed ordinary enough with its playground and many trees growing untamed near a large pond. He hid himself in the trees and scanned over the humans and occasional angel, looking for whatever made this place different.

A human child slightly bigger than him left the playground and ran full tilt across the grass directly toward him. In his fear of being seen, he flitted high up into the branches of the trees. One thing he'd noticed and taken advantage of over the years was that humans rarely looked up.

The child stopped near the water's edge, looking around for something. For him? Castiel folded his wings tightly around himself, letting his dark feathers hide him more deeply.

Soon the child lost interest, his attention refocused on something in the water. He hesitated briefly, then ran toward the bridge that crossed to an island in the center of the pond. Partway across, he climbed the railing, trying to see down into the water. A strange, anxious feeling twisted Castiel's belly. He dropped down from the tree to the water's edge, not taking his eyes off the child.

The human boy looked up, locking his gaze with Castiel's. For an instant, everything froze.

Then the child slipped, tumbling over the rail and dropping into the dark water. Castiel saw him surface once briefly before disappearing again.

Fear. Castiel gasped as a wave of terror rolled into him seemingly out of nowhere. Before he even thought about what he was doing, he was in the water, pulling the boy close and flitting back to the shore, his wings nearly as effective in the water as they were in the air.

He dropped the child at the water's edge, falling to his knees beside him. The human coughed and gagged, bringing up water from his lungs. He was in pain. Castiel could feel it in his own chest but knew it came from the boy. Instinctively, he reached out to the child, pressing his palm to his chest.

_Something_ happened. Something big. When he touched the boy, Castiel felt energy swell through him. It came from the child, but it also flowed into the child. He found the source of the pain and removed it, though he had no idea how.

The boy stopped coughing and opened his eyes. There. It happened again – that moment where time seemed to hold its breath as their eyes locked. This boy was the reason he'd been drawn here. He was certain.

“Dean!”

Castiel's head snapped up. Someone was coming – he needed to hide. Turning back to the child, he stood, spread his wings, and flew to safety, though he didn't go far.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**June 25, 1983**

Dean squeezed his eyes tightly shut and prayed as hard as he could. “Gabriel? Will you help me, please?”

“Hey, kiddo!”

“Gabriel!” Dean shouted, running and throwing himself at the angel at full speed.

“Oof!” Gabriel ducked down to catch him and hefted him up. “Hey, Deanerino! Whoa, look how big you've gotten. It's only been a couple of months! Man, I forget how fast you little rug rats grow. So what's up? Your prayer sounded a little casual to be an emergency.”

Dean frowned unhappily. “Mama doesn't believe me. She thinks I 'magined the angel at the pond. Can you make her believe me?”

Gabriel carried him over to his bed and sat on the edge, settling Dean onto his lap. “Why doesn't she believe you?”

“She says angels can't have wings.”

Orange colored eyes studied Dean's face. “Well, we have them, but you know humans can't see them. What happened at the pond, exactly?”

“We were at the park, and I saw a little kid down by the water, so I runned down there, but I couldn't find him. Then I falled in the water and went under, but the boy brought me out, and he put his hand here,” Dean patted his chest, “and made it better from when I breathed up water.”

“You're saying this boy healed you?”

Dean nodded.

“He was an angel?”

“Yeah! He had a halo like yours, all shimmery around his head, and great big wings!”

Gabriel didn't say anything for a minute, but his mouth moved like he wanted to. Finally he said, “Describe him. What did he look like?”

“He was littler than me, and um, he had blue eyes and dark hair and black wings.”

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Black?”

Dean nodded again.

“Black wings. Actual wings with feathers,” Gabriel repeated.

“Yeah! They were black and huge. When he stood up, his wings opened up this big!” He flung his arms out wide to show him, but then dropped both his arms and his volume. “It was kind of scary,” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Dean thought about it. “His wings were so big. And he stared at me. He was all dirty, too, with messed up hair and leaves in his feathers.”

Gabriel looked at him for a long time with a serious face he'd never seen on the angel before. It made Dean uncomfortable.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No,” Dean answered. “You believe me though, right? Will you tell Mama I didn't 'magine him?”

Gabriel pursed his lips and looked away, thinking. Eventually he said, “Here's the thing, kiddo. I believe you. I do. But I can't explain it. What you saw is impossible, so you can't blame your mother for thinking so.”

“But I did see him!”

“I know – I hear you. But a child with a halo _and_ wings? Do you understand why it's hard to imagine? Angels don't have physical wings. And demons, who do have wings, only come through the barrier to feed, plus they can't stay here in the world very long, not even full grown ones. Little demons can't come over at all. And little angels can't be off on their own like that. They have to stay with an adult angel until they're grown just like human kids.”

Frustrated tears stung Dean's eyes. Why did everyone keep telling him reasons he couldn't have seen what he definitely did see?

“Hey hey, Dean-o, it's okay! Tell you what. I'll talk to your mom and make sure she knows I believe you. How's that?”

Dean scowled, but nodded.

“Whoever it was, I'm grateful he saved your life. But in the future, just remember to call for me, okay? Sometimes I'm close enough to feel when you're in trouble, but usually I'm not, so you have to pray. Deal?”

“'Kay,” Dean agreed sullenly.

“Okay, short stuff.” Gabriel set Dean onto his feet and stood up, ruffling Dean's hair. “I'm gonna go downstairs to have a word with your mom."

Dean ducked out from under the angel's hand.

Gabriel paused in the doorway on his way out, turning back to add, “Oh, and if you do see him again? Make sure to pray to me right away, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, Gabriel headed downstairs to find Mama. Dean crept out onto the landing at the top of the stairs. He could hear them talking, but even though he peered through the railing, he couldn't quite see them.

His mama's voice drifted up to him. “Well? What do you think?”

“I don't know, Mary. It's weird. I don't think he can be making it up – it's too specific. There's too many details.”

“But he had to have dreamed it, though, right? He can't actually have seen a baby angel with wings. That's...that's crazy.”

Dean's face got hot and a strange pressure squeezed his chest as he listened.

Gabriel answered softly, “It's likely it was just his mind helping him cope with such a big scare. But he really believes it. I think it's best if we just not bring it up. And if he talks about it, don't argue. Pretty soon he'll forget about it.”

Tears spilled over Dean's cheeks. Gabriel had lied to him.

He ran back into his room and crawled under his bed so no one would see him cry.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**November 2, 1983**

Dean woke up scared, and he didn't know why.

It was night time still. He was bolt upright in his bed, sweating and clutching his blankets in his fists. From the hallway, he could hear Sammy crying. Maybe that was what woke him up.

But that shouldn't make him afraid.

He tried to breathe real quiet, so he could listen for Mama's or Daddy's footsteps in the hallway as they headed to Sammy's room. He listened for a long time, but they didn't come. Sammy cried louder, and Dean wanted to cry, too. Something was wrong. Something bad was happening.

Sniffing back his tears, Dean forced himself to slide out of bed. He was almost five now. Five-year-olds should be brave. He crept to his bedroom door and peeked through the crack. Everything was dark except for the dim glow of the nightlight in the bathroom down the hall. The only thing weird was how hot it was, and that made him more uneasy.

Sammy still cried from inside his nursery, so Dean slipped from his room and went that way. He could try to make his brother feel better until Mama or Daddy came.

Just before he got to Sammy's door, a terrible noise came crashing from his parents' room. He could hear his mama scream from behind the door. He froze in terror, with no idea what he should do.

Behind him, Daddy thundered up the stairs, shouting over the roaring noise, “Mary! What was that? _Mary!_ ”

He ran past Dean and slammed into the door to their bedroom but couldn't seem to open it. He shoved hard and it budged a few inches, but Daddy jerked back like it had hurt him. He shouted some more, and pounded and shoved at the door. A red-orange glow leaked from the crack, and the hallway got even hotter.

Dean's eyes began to sting and he coughed hard at the burning in his throat. “Daddy?”

His dad turned toward him, but he almost didn't look like himself with the wild look on his face. Daddy was brave and strong, but he looked afraid, and that scared Dean most of all. He started to cry.

Daddy ran down the hall to him, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him into Sammy's room. His brother was screaming as loud as he could now, as if he were as scared as Dean. Daddy snatched up Sammy and wrapped his blanket tight around him. He turned and shoved the baby into Dean's arms. Once he was sure Dean had a good grip, Daddy held his shoulders so tight it hurt.

He shouted, “Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now, Dean! Go!”

Daddy gave him a push toward the hallway, and before he had a chance to think about what was happening, he ran. He carried Sammy down the stairs and to the front door. Upstairs, he could still hear Daddy screaming Mama's name, and more crashing and roaring noises that left him shaking so hard he had to take extra good care not to drop Sammy. When he reached the door, he realized he couldn't open it without putting his brother down, so he lowered Sammy carefully to the floor.

“It's okay, Sammy,” he said, even as he coughed and cried. “It's okay!”

He was big enough to open the door without help, but when he pulled on it, the door wouldn't open. It was locked, and he couldn't reach the deadbolt.

Looking around wildly, Dean sought the closest thing he could climb. He grabbed the leg of the coffee table and pulled. He had to get Sammy outside, and the only way to do that was to move that table. But it was heavy, and he was barely able to shift it, no matter how hard he pulled. Frustration and fear started pushing in on him, making his stinging eyes blur and spill over with more terrified tears.

He wasn't going to be able to get Sammy out, and Daddy would be so mad.

“Dean!”

In a flurry of movement, Gabriel appeared next to Dean looking as wild-eyed as his daddy had upstairs.

“Gabriel!” Dean shrieked, and threw himself at the angel who wrapped him up tight. “I hafta get Sammy outside!”

But Gabriel was already reaching for his baby brother, scooping him up in his other arm. In an instant, they were out on the sidewalk in front of the house in the cold night air. Sirens were screaming as fire engines roared around the corner of their street. Dean looked back at his house and saw flames beginning to take over the roof. An angry orange glow came from the vents in the attic and also from the window at the end of the house. The window of Mama and Daddy's room.

Gabriel set him abruptly on his feet and passed Sammy to him. “Dean, stay here! You hear me? I have to go back.”

“Gabriel,” Dean whimpered, but the angel was gone, flitting over to bark a few short words to the arriving firefighters about a fallen ceiling before disappearing again to go save Mama and Daddy.

The street steadily became more chaotic, with noise and lights and water and people shouting and the roar of the fire that was so loud. Dean huddled into the bushes next to the sidewalk with his baby brother and stared intently at the front door, willing his parents to appear. When part of the roof collapsed with a great crashing sound and flames shot up into the night sky, Dean shook with fear and squeezed Sammy tight.

A sudden commotion near one of the fire trucks drew his attention away from the house.

“Goddammit, Gabriel, you son of a bitch, you let me go right NOW!” Daddy's voice carried over all the other noise on the street.

Gabriel had both hands bunched in Daddy's shirt and robe while Daddy fought to free himself. He shoved Daddy toward the paramedics and firefighters and yelled, “Don't let him back in there! It's going to come down!”

The angel disappeared again, leaving Daddy fighting against several men keeping him from running straight back inside. Dean waited, clutching onto Sammy's blanket for what felt like forever until Gabriel finally appeared again.

He was alone.

Paramedics rushed toward Gabriel as he staggered and collapsed on the grass. Dean stared on in confusion. Where was Mama? Why didn't he bring Mama? He stood with Sammy in his arms and moved hesitantly toward the unmoving angel.

“Gabriel?” he croaked, then coughed.

The next thing Dean knew, he was swarmed by more paramedics. Sammy was taken away from him, despite his cries of protest, and the people poked and prodded at him, asking him questions and making him breathe from a thing. Somewhere nearby, Daddy was still screaming, calling Gabriel bad words and sobbing out Mama's name.

Dean tried to be brave, but hearing his daddy cry like that was too much, and Dean cried, too.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**November 2, 1984**

Daddy and Uncle Bobby were yelling at each other again.

“The man lived just up the road from here, John! Mike was my neighbor for years. If he'd had an angel, maybe he wouldn't have been demon food last month!” Uncle Bobby's shouting carried from inside the house all the way out to where Dean had fled to the junkyard.

Dean kicked at the ground, sending little rocks to patter against the rusting sides of broken down cars. He hated it when they fought. It made his stomach upset. And if they kept fighting like this, he knew Daddy would move them somewhere else. Again.

“That's bullshit!” Daddy's voice was angry and loud. “He didn't need an angel, he just needed to know how to protect himself like a goddamn man.”

It was almost dark out, but Dean couldn't stand the thought of going back inside. Instead, he went deeper into the rows of wrecked cars to get farther from Uncle Bobby's house and away from the raised voices.

Sammy had been asleep upstairs. Dean wondered if the yelling had woken him up, and he felt a twinge of guilt that he wasn't up there to comfort his baby brother in case it had.

When he was almost to the fence lining the salvage yard, the automatic lights came on, bathing the rows of cars in harsh light. Dean climbed into the backseat of one of the less damaged cars – it had no doors, but it still had seat cushions. Picking at the edge of a hole in the tan leather seat, he thought about before the fire. About what it had been like before Mama died and Daddy had become so mean all the time. He didn't smile anymore and never played with Dean like he used to. Tears filled Dean's eyes when he thought about his mama – how she always took care of him and made him feel safe, and how much she loved him.

He was pretty sure Daddy didn't love him anymore.

It felt like a huge hand was crushing him in a fist, making it hard to breathe. Pulling his knees up to his chin, he wrapped his arms around his legs and tried to stop crying. Crying was for babies. He should be upstairs taking care of Sammy like he was supposed to. If he did a better job of it, maybe Daddy would love him again.

“Hey, Dean-o.” The gentle voice came from the shadowed figure that suddenly appeared on the seat beside him.

“Gabriel?” Dean asked in shock. It had been so long since he'd seen Gabriel that he'd thought the angel had forgotten about them.

“Hey, buddy. I missed you.” Gabriel said softly, opening his arms in invitation.

A sob tore its way out of Dean as he scrambled across the seat and into Gabriel's lap, throwing his arms around the angel and burying his face in his neck and the familiar tingle of his halo. Gabriel held him tightly and petted his hair like Mama used to do whenever he was hurt or upset, and that just made him cry harder. He missed Mama so much, and he missed Gabriel, too.

“I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm so sorry I haven't been here for you,” Gabriel murmured, rocking him gently.

Dean squeezed his arms tighter around the angel's neck. “Where've you been? Why did you leave us?”

Gabriel took him by the shoulders and pushed him away far enough that he could meet Dean's eyes. He looked serious and sad. “I haven't left you. I could never leave you, Dean-o, I promise. But your Dad's still really angry with me and won't let me see you.”

Reaching up, Dean touched his fingertips to the shiny scars that still covered part of Gabriel's face. They looked better than when he'd last seen the angel, but the burns had been severe, and not even angels had been able to heal them completely. He brushed his fingers over where his eyebrow should have been and over the waxy looking skin of his cheekbone beneath where his eye used to be. “He shouldn't be mad at you. It wasn't your fault.”

Gabriel looked away, his remaining eye glittering gold in the harsh yellow of the security light. “Doesn't matter, Dean.”

“Does, too. I want you to stay here.”

Pulling Dean back into a hug, Gabriel sighed. “Me, too, kiddo. But I can't. Your dad won't have it. You can always pray to me, but unless it's life or death, I won't be able to answer. The best I can do is an occasional visit like this one, but it has to be secret, okay? If your dad finds out...”

“If his dad finds out, what?” Daddy's voice cut in, hard and dangerous. He stepped into the pool of light next to the wreck with a tire iron dangling in one hand.

Dean whimpered and Gabriel's grip on him tightened.

“Dean, get your ass out of that car right now.” When Daddy spoke soft like that was when he was the angriest. Dean scurried out of the car as fast as he could.

“John. Could we just--”

“Could we just nothing. I told you, you son of a bitch, that I didn't want you anywhere near me or my children ever again.”

“It's been a year--”

“You don't think I know that? A year ago today, my life – my whole _world_ – ended, and it's YOUR fucking fault!” With a roar, Daddy swung the tire iron and smashed it down on the already damaged back window of the wreck, shattering it.

“Gabriel!” Dean shrieked, running back toward the angel.

Daddy whirled around and grabbed Dean's arm, wrenching it painfully. “Go to the house and go to bed, boy. NOW.” He gave Dean a shove that landed him on his rear. Dean looked up at him, shocked and scared.

“NOW, DEAN!”

Dean scrambled to his feet and ran, too afraid to do anything else. But before he got even halfway back to the house, he skidded to a stop. He'd never seen his daddy like this, and it was terrifying – he was scared that if he didn't follow orders and go to bed, Daddy might really hurt him. But what if Daddy hurt Gabriel? Dean couldn't let that happen.

He ducked back down the row in time to see Daddy hauling Gabriel out of the wrecked car by the front of his shirt. Gabriel had his hands up and open. Sparkling glass rained down out of his hair and off his shoulders.

Dean hid alongside one of the old cars, just outside the yellow pool of the security light.

“John, please – I just want to be there for the boys.”

Daddy slammed Gabriel up against the wreck and snarled in his face, “Like you were there for Mary?”

Gabriel's face crumbled. “John...”

“Stay the hell away from us – or I'll make _damned_ sure you do!”

Gabriel, his hands still raised, nodded slowly. His eye flicked over to where Dean huddled in the shadows, and then he vanished.

Daddy roared again, and smashed the tire iron down on the battered roof of the wrecked car over and over until his wordless shouting turned into wrenching sobs. The tire iron dropped from his hand as the sobs shook him.

Dean ran. He turned and raced back to the house as fast as he could. Ignoring Uncle Bobby's demands to know what all the ruckus was about, he rushed up the stairs and into the room he was sharing with Sammy, slamming the door behind him. Kicking off his shoes, he stripped out of his pants and dove into bed, pulling the covers up over his head.

He was trying so hard to keep from crying like a baby that he shook from the effort, and still some tears got out. When he heard the front door open and close, he listened as hard as he could, but he couldn't hear what Daddy and Uncle Bobby said to each other. Footsteps creaked on the stairs, so Dean quickly wiped his face and pretended to be asleep.

The bedroom door opened. Through his cracked eyelids, he saw his father shadowed in the doorway. The dark figure stepped into the room and sat at the edge of Dean's bed.

“Dean...” his daddy began, but trailed off.

He sat there without saying anything for a long time.

Finally, he said, “Dean, I didn't mean--”

With a sigh, his daddy stood up again. He went to the doorway and paused, turning back to the room for a moment before leaving and closing the door behind him.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a nod in this one to a (presumably) Tumblr post of unknown-to-me authorage that broke my wee heart. I couldn't find it again to post here, but if you've seen it, you'll know it.

#### Chapter 9

**December 15, 1984 – January 7, 1985**

Dean had been right. Daddy packed them up and moved them away from Uncle Bobby's within a week. Sometimes they stayed at motels that smelled weird. Sometimes they stayed with people Dean didn't know, but that Daddy said were friends. And sometimes they slept in the car. They never stayed anywhere very long.

They'd been in the car almost non-stop for the last two days. Sammy was cranky and Daddy finally pulled over at a gas station, snapping at Dean to get his brother calmed down. Daddy got out of the car and headed for a pay phone, so Dean dug through the bag that held the last of their food. The only thing in it that Sammy could eat was Cheerios and they were down to the dusty, crumbly bits at the bottom.

After finishing the last of the cereal and drinking some water, Sammy gradually quieted. He was as tired as Dean and nodded off after getting something in his belly. Dean's stomach growled. He looked through the bag again, but there was nothing but empty wrappers and a can of beer. They only had one more diaper left, too. He looked across the parking lot to where Daddy was still talking on the phone. Hopefully he would remember to get food and stuff while they were here.

Dean turned the crank to roll the window down and listened to Daddy talking on the phone, trying to figure out if he was almost done. He sounded even more annoyed than usual, and Dean couldn't tell what he was talking about just from his side of the conversation.

“Look, I know it ain't exactly run of the mill, but I got my reasons, dammit, and they're none of your business!”

“Well, it better damn well work! I got a lot invested in this thing, and if it doesn't do what it's supposed to, I'm taking it out of your ass! I've only got the one shot.”

“Yeah, fine. But this guy better have the real thing. I can't afford to be driving all over chasing this down only to find out it's a damn fake.”

“And what about the translation? How far are you on that?”

“Any idea how much longer?”

“Yeah, I can have it there by then. First full moon after the solstice, I got it.”

“Will the warding work? I can't have angels showing up in the middle of this. And if Gabriel finds out, I don't know what'll happen. I don't know how far he'd go to stop me.”

Dean's ears picked up at the mention of Gabriel. Was that why they were driving all over the place? Something to do with Gabriel?

Just then, Sammy jolted out of his doze and started to cry again, so Dean quickly rolled up the window and turned to tend to his brother. Unstrapping him from the car seat, Dean struggled to get Sammy's wet diaper changed in spite of his writhing and furious screaming. By the time he'd finally gotten Sam back into his car seat and calmed down, Daddy was off the phone and had gotten some things at the Gas 'n Sip.

He tossed the bag into the back with Dean and dropped into the driver's seat with a grunt.

“Da dee!” chirped Sam.

“Hey, champ,” Daddy said with a tired smile, waving his fingers at Sammy.

Dean opened the bag to look inside. “We need diapers, too, Daddy. Sammy's out.”

Daddy looked at him in the rear-view mirror. “ _Now_ you tell me this? Dammit, Dean.”

“I'm sorry, Daddy.”

Daddy opened the squeaky car door and got out, then leaned back in to glare at Dean in the back seat. “You're too damn old to be calling me Daddy.”

Dean dropped his eyes to his lap. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

Dean lost track of all the places they'd stayed. He was exhausted and it was getting harder to keep Sam quiet and happy. He'd been watching the moon, though, and it was close to being full. He didn't know what Dad had been talking about, but maybe this was the full moon he'd meant.

He'd been slumped sideways in the back seat, lulled to sleep by the rumble of the engine, when he woke up to the creak of the door opening. Dad was pulling Sam's car seat out of the back.

Dad saw he was awake. “Come on,” he grunted.

Dean slid himself across the seat and climbed out while Dad went around to the trunk and pulled out a duffel bag. Dean followed him up the dirt drive to a small building that, from what little he could see in the deep twilight, seemed to be falling apart. Dad opened the door and walked right in, so Dean stayed on his heels.

Inside, there was only one room. There was a lamp in one corner, sitting on the floor and throwing weak light across the space. Red scribbles were drawn on all the walls and windows. Candles flickered here and there around the room. In the middle of the floor were more scribbles and a woman sitting with a bowl in front of her.

“Nothing like cutting it close, jackass,” the woman griped. “You've got about two minutes. You sure you want to do this? A guy in my building was killed by demons three days ago. If he'd had an angel....”

Dad crossed the space and dropped the duffel next to the woman, then knelt across from her, setting Sammy's car seat beside him. “Screw you, Barnes, we're doing this. I'm here, ain't I?” He turned to Dean who was still hovering just inside the door. “Get over here.”

Dean reluctantly did as he was told. He didn't like this place or the woman even though she smiled at him.

“Hey, honey,” she said. “I'm Pam. What's your name?”

“That's Dean,” his dad answered for him impatiently. “Now get on with it – you're the one bitching about time.”

Pam sent a black look his way. “Fine. I was just trying to--” She cut herself off. “Fine.”

She opened the duffel and pulled out a bunch of stuff – weird things that Dean had never seen before. After she arranged some of the things around the scribbles on the floor, she put more stuff into the bowl. As she worked, she muttered words under her breath, but Dean couldn't understand.

At last, she held her hands out over the bowl and spoke louder, but the words still meant nothing to Dean. The lamp in the corner flickered and the hair on Dean's arms prickled and stood up.

Her eyes flew open and instead of clear green, they were white. “Now, John!”

Dad grabbed Dean's wrist and dragged his arm out over the bowl in front of Pam. He tried to pull away, but his dad held him in place with a hand on the back of his neck.

Before he even saw it, Pam had cut open his palm with a short silver knife. Dean shrieked in surprise and pain, trying to yank his hand back, but he couldn't free himself. His dad held his hand out over the bowl, letting the blood drip into it.

Pam continued chanting the strange words, louder now, over Dean's cries. The only word he recognized was 'Gabriel'.

Sam woke and started to scream. The lamp flickered again, then sizzled and sparked as the bulb exploded. Pam was shouting over the noise, then she struck a match and dropped it into the bowl. Flames burst up almost to the ceiling, then everything went dark except for the faintly flickering candles around the room.

Pam blinked and her eyes were normal again. “It's done.”

Dad nodded, then pulled a cloth from his jacket pocket and wound it around Dean's palm. “Quit your whining,” he snapped at him. “You're fine.”

Turning to Pam, Dad asked, “How will I know if it worked?”

She shrugged. “Ask the kid to call him.”

“Dean, pray to Gabriel. Tell him you need him.”

This was wrong. What was happening? “Why?”

“Just do it, Dean!”

Dean closed his eyes and prayed as hard as he could. _Gabriel, please come! Something bad is happening, and I'm scared. I need you. Please!_

He kept it up until Dad stood up next to him. Dean looked around, but Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. “Dad? What'd you do? Dad?”

But his dad didn't answer. He pulled a thick envelope from inside his jacket and tossed it to the floor next to Pam. He picked up Sammy's car seat and walked out the door. “Let's go.”

Dean watched him go, but stayed frozen to the spot.

Pam reached over and squeezed his arm. He turned to her.

“He banished Gabriel,” she said softly. “The spell forces him away from your bloodline. He can't come close, and he can't hear you anymore. I'm sorry, Dean. Your angel is gone.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**July 31, 1986**

Dean was seven years old before he saw another angel.

After the night Dad had banished Gabriel, they'd stopped moving around all the time. They settled back in Lawrence for a while, but living there seemed to upset Dad – too many memories. Even with Gabriel gone, he seemed paranoid about angels coming to ruin his family. He became more and more short tempered. He drank a lot and missed work at the garage often. He stayed out late and sometimes didn't come home all night. Dean didn't sleep those nights.

They moved away to a small, beat up house a long way outside of Lawrence, where Dad painted red symbols on the walls and said the angels couldn't bother them now. The paranoia and the drinking got worse, and finally he moved them even farther away – away from towns, from people, from Kansas.

The new house was cool, at least. It was old and drafty, but there were stairs and an attic and a huge yard out back. Or at least a big piece of land cleared of trees. Dean liked the trees and mountains of Colorado a lot better than the flat, dull landscapes of Kansas, but he missed his friends from school. He'd be starting second grade in just about a month. Maybe he'd make new friends.

Sammy was in the house with Dad, who was sober for once, so Dean took the chance to play outside without having to keep an eye on his brother. He'd dragged a shovel and a hose out near the woodpile and spent a couple of hours building up Castle Grayskull. He couldn't dig deep enough to make a bottomless pit around it like it was supposed to have, but he figured a water moat should work.

Skeletor and Beast-Man were attacking the castle, battering away at the defenses put up by the Sorceress. Even though he didn't actually have a Sorceress to play with, she was usually part of his stories. She wasn't an angel, but she did have wings, and Dean thought that was close enough.

He-Man had just arrived to help defend the castle. His sword arm was loose and liked to fall off, but Dean just held it in place whenever He-Man was fighting.

He-Man had just punched Skeletor so hard he flew all the way back to Snake Mountain – Dean flung the action figure and watched as it arced across the yard, providing the villain's shouts of outrage and threats of revenge. Skeletor tumbled through the dirt and came to rest at the tree line.

Dean stopped in shock.

It was the boy – the angel with wings. He was there, watching Dean play, partially hidden in the underbrush a little ways into the aspens, his wings curled protectively around him. Their eyes locked and the angel froze, realizing Dean had seen him.

He couldn't believe it. Dean didn't remember a lot from the day he fell into the pond at the park, but he could never forget the strange angel.

Shyly, Dean raised a hand and waved. The angel's eyes widened and he vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Wait!" Dean called out. He jumped to his feet and raced to the tree line. "Wait, come back!"

When he got to where the angel had been, he stopped and squinted through the dappled sun and shade of the grove, but there was nothing. The boy was gone.

"Where'd you go? Why'd you run away?" Dean asked the empty air.

A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye. He whipped his head to the right, but only saw more trees and underbrush, missing whatever had moved.

Dean pushed his way through the cow parsnip in the direction he thought the movement had been. Climbing up onto a rock, he peered into the trees, hoping for another glimpse. His breath caught in his throat. The angel was watching him again with wide eyes and a frown from behind one of the small pines that sprouted up between the aspens.

"Hey," Dean called softly. He didn't move from his rock, for fear of scaring the angel off again. "Hi. I remember you."

The boy's wings flared, feathers spiking up at the arches in threat. Dean's heart raced, but he went quiet and still and waited to see what the angel would do. After a few moments of this standoff, the ruffled wing feathers slowly returned to normal. The boy began backing away, keeping a suspicious eye on Dean as he went.

Dean hesitated as the angel disappeared deeper into the trees. He'd played in these trees often enough, but he didn't ever venture farther than shouting distance from the house. Chewing his lip in indecision, he glanced over his shoulder at the yard. Castle Grayskull was waiting for him, but the moat was probably soaked through to mud by now anyhow.

Dean climbed down from the rock and trotted after the angel. There was no choice, really – he _had_ to find him if he could. Excitement made his blood rush, and he picked up his pace.

Following the path the angel had made through the underbrush, Dean worked his way through the trees as quickly as he could, chasing him over the hills and way past the creek that was Dean's usual boundary. At least, he followed until the path vanished. The angel must have flown away. Dean looked around frantically, trying to find some sign of the boy. When he saw nothing, tears of frustration pushed against the backs of his eyes. He squeezed his lids closed until the urge to cry went away. Dad would call him stupid if he cried over nothing.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Dean scanned the trees one more time, trying to decide if he should give up and go back. But then another flicker of movement came from ahead and to the left. He saw the angel for just a split second before he disappeared again into the trees. Without hesitation, he took off in that direction.

"Please wait!" Dean cried, crashing through the underbrush after him.

He followed the boy like a will-o-the-wisp, not caring about the noise he made or how far away from the house he'd gone. He needed to find the angel.

Suddenly, Dean lurched to the side with a shock as his foot came down in a hole he hadn't seen through the underbrush. As he fell, his foot stayed stuck in the hole, and he screamed as the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life shot up his leg. He hit the ground in a heap, too terrified to move. It hurt so bad, it felt like his leg was on fire with every rapid beat of his heart. There was no stopping the tears this time, and they poured down his cheeks as he huddled and shook on the ground, trying not to throw up.

He'd messed up really bad this time. He was so far from the house, even if he screamed all day no one would hear him. He couldn't even call for Gabriel because Dad had banished him. Tears flowed faster as fear welled up, quickly building toward panic.

A sound registered from a few yards ahead of him. Looking up, he saw the boy creeping toward him, gradually edging closer and eyeing Dean warily. Finally, the angel crouched just out of reach in front of him and stared. Dean just watched him back with tears streaming down his face, trying not to whimper.

The boy crawled the last couple feet forward and reached one hand out toward Dean. Without meaning to, Dean flinched back from him which jarred his leg, triggering a fiery wave of agony. He couldn't help crying out at the searing pain. The angel startled back at his cry, his wings flaring out again. They smoothed back quickly, though, and the boy reached toward Dean with more confidence, only pausing briefly just before his fingers touched Dean's cheek.

The angel's hand was warm on his skin, but then the warmth seemed to break through the surface and flow _into_ his skin all the way down to his bones. The tingling warmth trickled down through his whole body. When it reached Dean's injured leg, the angel took a shuddering, shallow breath. His eyes were screwed tightly shut in concentration, and the single shallow breath became many as he panted along in time with Dean's pained breathing. He shuffled closer on his knees and brought up his other hand, framing Dean's face in his palms. A fine sweat broke out on the boy's forehead and the halo surrounding his head flickered and flared. The warmth pooling around his injury got hotter, and Dean gasped to feel the bones in his leg moving and shifting. Suddenly, the angel's eyes snapped open, and he released a huge breath. The heat that had become nearly unbearable swirled into a comforting coolness, taking all traces of pain with it.

The boy's eyes bored into Dean's, the vibrant blue nearly overtaking his entire field of vision. Even if Dean wanted to look away, he couldn't. Slowly, the angel drew his hands away from Dean's face and rocked back onto his heels, breathing like he'd just finished running.

"Thank you," Dean whispered, afraid of frightening the boy away.

But the angel just kept staring at him.

"My name's Dean. What's yours?"

The angel's eyes narrowed and he cocked his head slightly to one side. His wings puffed up, though they didn't spike like before and they didn't spread wide in threat.

"Castiel." The boy spoke at last, and Dean smiled to hear it. The angel's voice was rough and dry, like he didn't use it much.

"Castiel," Dean breathed. Joy swelled inside him. His winged angel was real – he'd found him, and now Dean knew his name. "Castiel, where did you come from? Who are you?"

But a shadow darkened the angel's eyes at the question, and he looked away from Dean. "I am a ghost," he whispered.

"A ghost?" The joy dampened as Dean realized the angel didn't feel the same. "What do you mean?"

Castiel's expression darkened further. "I don't know."

"Castiel?" Dean asked carefully. "Why are you here? Why did you save me at the pond and heal my ankle?"

The angel stood, rising over Dean, still sprawled in the dirt and propped up on his elbows. Castiel's great, black wings rose, arching over him.

"I don't _know!_ " he hissed. And in an instant he was gone.

Dean knew he wouldn't find the angel again that day.


	11. Chapter 11

**May 7, 1988**

"Sammy, I said stay down! It's too high for you!" Dean peered down at his brother through the gap between his arm and the ladder.

Sam stubbornly kept his hands on the ladder while he glared a challenge up at Dean. One foot rose to the first rung.

"Sam..." Dean warned.

Very slowly, Sam's foot returned to the bare dirt. He let go of the ladder and backed up a couple steps, pushing out his lower lip. Fine. He could sulk all he wanted, as long as he stayed down.

Once he was sure Sam would stay put, Dean scrambled from the ladder to the roof of the shed. His stomach fluttered strangely when he stood up – it seemed a whole heck of a lot higher from up here than it had from the ground. But he couldn't let Sam see him afraid.

With a deep breath to calm his nerves, he moved carefully to the edge of the shingled roof and raised to his full nine-year-old height. The threadbare bath towel that was clothes-pinned around his neck flapped weakly behind him in the breeze. The air also stirred the red and yellow paper "S" he'd carefully drawn with markers and stapled to his shirt.

Fists on his hips, Superman surveyed the city of Metropolis, spread out before him. The city was peaceful in the morning light. But suddenly, his super hearing picked up a distant cry for help. Someone in the city needed him!

"This looks like a job for Superman!" he shouted. Thrusting one fist forward, he leaped off the roof to fly up, up, and away, but instead dropped down, down, to the ground.

The impact jarred his ankles and knees, and he scuffed his palms in the dirt. It took a second for him to catch his breath at the surprise of how _fast_ he'd fallen.

"Whoa," he laughed shakily. "That was probably dumb."

He turned to grin at Sam, but his brother wasn't where he'd just been a minute ago. "Sam?"

"Me, too, Dean! I can fly, too, see?"

Dean's stomach dropped to his feet when he looked up to see Sam at the edge of the roof he'd just jumped from, wearing his own towel cape and a yellow and black paper bat on his chest. "Sammy, NO! Get down from there!"

His heart stopped cold as his baby brother jumped off the shed. Horrified, Dean could only watch him plummet to the ground. Sam landed in a heap with an ear-splitting shriek of pain.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, rushing to his side.

Sam wailed, fat tears rolling down his face. Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders to hold him still while he tried to figure out what was hurt.

There was blood on Sammy's chin and palms where he'd scraped them on the ground, but his arm was more alarming. It was bent weird, and in one too many places.

"Holy crap, Sammy, you broke your arm!" Dean went a little faint at the sight of it. He swallowed hard.

Sam just cried louder, taking big, gulping breaths between howls.

Suddenly, Dean realized they were completely alone. It was Saturday, so Dad was gone, either at work or more likely passed out drunk somewhere. They lived a long way from town and Dad's paranoia meant they didn't have a phone. Panic crawled up under his skin. How was he going to get help? He was supposed to take care of Sammy, but now he was hurt bad and it was all Dean's fault.

Immobilized by fear, he stared down at his baby brother. He felt sick.

And then his panicked mind seized on an idea. Castiel! Maybe the angel could help.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Dean dropped his head and prayed as hard as he could, pleading for Castiel to come fix Sammy.

Sam's cries abruptly stopped, his teary eyes going huge as he stared at something over Dean's shoulder. "Dean?" he whimpered, grabbing at his brother's shirt with his good hand, tearing the paper "S".

Dean turned, relief washing through him and driving tears to blur his eyes. He blinked them away to focus on the angel standing over them, looking fierce and wild with his dark wings spread wide. His face was screwed up in... pain? Confusion? Dean couldn't tell, but it didn't matter. Only Sammy mattered.

"Sam broke his arm! Can you heal him?"

Castiel cocked his head, staring at Dean like he was speaking Greek. Slowly, his intense gaze traveled down to where Sam huddled against Dean.

" _Please?_ " Dean begged.

The angel's bright blue eyes met Dean's again. For a second, he didn't do anything, and Dean was afraid he wasn't going to help Sam after all. But then the angel blinked and nodded slightly.

The tears of relief pushed at the backs of Dean's eyes again and he blinked them back hard. He shifted to the side to give the angel room, still keeping reassuring hands on his brother's shoulders. "It's okay, Sammy. This is Castiel, a friend. Just let him help you. Everything's okay now."

Castiel took a step closer, and Sammy flinched, whimpering in fear. The angel stepped back again, glancing at Dean before folding his wings neatly to his back and lowering himself to his knees in the dirt. He crawled forward, far less scary-looking down at Sam's level, despite the ragged pants and long, tangled hair.

Stopping in front of Sam, the angel looked him over, eyes traveling to the bloody scrapes and finally landing on the unnatural angle of his arm. He reached out and gently touched a finger to the swelling skin near the break, and Sam whined at the pain. Castiel carefully moved his hand to Sammy's tear-streaked cheek and closed his eyes.

Sammy made a surprised noise and his eyes went big as the healing energy began to flow. Dean watched, fascinated by the focus on Castiel's face and the strange, almost electrical feel of power moving under his own skin, even though it was Sam he was healing, not Dean. Castiel's halo didn't flicker like it had when he'd healed Dean's leg, instead shimmering steadily around his head, nearly invisible in the sunlight.

After a tense moment, Castiel released the breath he'd been holding and let his hand drop from Sam's stunned and now unmarked face. Sam's expression of awe made Dean realize this was the first time his brother had ever seen an angel up close – their dad had made sure of that. He gave Sammy a reassuring squeeze around the shoulders.

"You okay, Sammy?" he asked.

Sam's wide eyes never left Castiel's face, but he nodded silently in answer.

Dean grinned at the angel. "Thank you!"

Castiel glanced from Dean to Sam and back again. A little frown line appeared between his brows, but he nodded once, slowly.

"Um, yeah," Dean continued. Nervousness pierced through the relief and gratitude, making him itch to fill the silence. "My dad's not here. We'd've been toast if you hadn't come. I wasn't even sure you'd be able to hear me."

The frown line deepened as Castiel stared at him with narrow eyes. "Hear you?"

"Yeah. When I prayed for you."

Castiel's feathers raised, spiking upward. "What did you say to me?" he hissed.

"Um. I prayed for you?"

Castiel's body arched forward and his blue eyes blazed. The black wings flared menacingly. Dean shrank back in surprise, pulling Sammy closer.

"You _prayed_...for me." Castiel snarled, his wings arching even higher. "How dare you? You can't _pray_ for me!"

"But you came..." Dean argued weakly. He didn't understand why the angel was so angry.

Castiel's burning eyes faltered in their glare for an instant, then pinned Dean again. "You expect me to be at your beck and call like some _angel?_ I'm no one's _pet_ ," he spat, lip curling in disgust.

"That's not—" Dean stopped and shook his head. "Nobody thinks that! Angels aren't pets."

Castiel shoved himself to his feet, limbs rigid in his rage. "I'm no angel."

"Well, if you're not an angel, then how did you heal Sam?" Dean argued. "And why did you come if you didn't hear my prayer?"

Shock fizzled the furious tension in Castiel's body. His shoulders slowly drooped until his wingtips dragged the ground. His mouth went slack as he stared wide-eyed at Dean in confusion. "What?"

"Castiel, why did you come here?"

Fear flickered behind the blue eyes. "I... I don't know."

Dean asked again, softly, "If you didn't hear me, then how did you know we needed you?"

"I... felt you. I felt Sam's pain and your fear. Your desperation." Castiel's wings shuddered and drew in tightly against his back, making him seem smaller than he was. "I had to come."

The distress on his face made Dean's big brother instincts kick in, driving him to try to comfort Castiel. "I'm glad you did. I let Sammy get hurt, and you fixed him."

Castiel didn't answer, apparently lost in his turmoil.

Dean stood up, offering a hand to pull Sammy up, too. He dusted off his knees, then gave his brother a quick once over to be sure all his hurts were mended. When he looked back, Castiel still stood with his fists clenched and devastation on his face. Dean took a step closer, but stopped when Castiel's startled eyes snapped up to his face and his wings opened again, as if he were about to fly away.

"Castiel?" he said quietly. "Look, without you, Sammy would have been hurt really bad. So thanks."

"I'm not an angel," Castiel repeated with a desperate note in his voice.

"It doesn't matter to me if you are or not. You helped me and you helped Sam, and that makes you my friend," Dean told him.

The great wings quivered in the air as Castiel stood frozen in front of him. The uncertainty that rippled over his face would almost have been funny if it were something Dean were watching on TV. As it was, it wasn't funny at all. Finally, Castiel's expression darkened into a scowl and the feathers along the arches of his wings spiked up again aggressively.

"No!" he growled. "No! It's _your_ fault I'm here! You humans and your angels. I shouldn't be helping you. You're _all_ monsters!"

And with a snap of feathers, Castiel disappeared. Dean stared at the spot where he'd been, utterly confused. If Castiel wasn't an angel, then what was he? He'd thought the boy with wings was his friend, but now he didn't know what to think. He was stunned to hear that Castiel apparently hated him, and that thought...hurt.

Sammy tugged at Dean's sleeve. "Dean?"

Dean looked down to his brother's face, still marked with dried tear tracks. He rubbed a thumb over Sam's cheek, trying to wipe away the evidence of Dean's failure to protect him. "Yeah, Sammy?"

"C-Cas-ti-el is your friend?"

Dean unhooked the clothes pins, releasing their makeshift capes from their backs. He pulled the torn Superman emblem from his shirt and crumpled it up. He had no business pretending to be Superman anyway. "He helped me before. Twice. You were little."

Sam looked up at him with worried hazel eyes. "Why was he mad at you? Who- _What_ is he?"

He put a hand on his brother's shoulder and steered him back toward the house to get cleaned up for lunch. "I don't know, Sammy. I got no idea anymore."


	12. Chapter 12

**March 20-21, 1992**

Fiery agony screamed along Castiel's left wing as he twisted away from the blade just an instant too late.

He threw himself to the side, tumbling over the broken asphalt of the alley and away from the angel trying to kill him. He crashed to a stop against a couple of foul smelling metal garbage cans. The pain in his wing blinded him momentarily, and he nearly panicked, afraid the injury would prevent him from flying to safety. Rolling to his feet, he caught sight of the angel again as it appeared behind him. He spun and dodged the swipe of the blade, narrowly missing having his innards spilled.

"Demon filth!" the angel sneered as she circled him again. "Why won't you hold still so I can kill you properly?"

Castiel didn't bother with verbal sparring. It was all he could do just to stay alive. Snagging the metal lid of one of the garbage cans, he brandished it as an entirely inadequate shield.

The angel bared her teeth and lunged at him, changing her angle of attack at the last second. Castiel saw her shift in weight just in time to avoid having the blade plunged into his gut. He brought the can lid across his body to knock her knife hand aside, then swung it roundhouse to strike her in the side of the head. The angel dropped, smacking her head hard on the asphalt.

Castiel didn't wait to find out if she still lived. He spread his wings and escaped, crashing down blindly into a prickly but spongy bed of pine needles covering a forest floor...somewhere. Gasping in pain, Castiel froze where he'd rolled to a stop on his side and waited for his body to tell him how badly he was hurt.

When no new pains made themselves known, he slowly and carefully pushed himself up to a sitting position. He examined himself with shaking hands, finding several shallow cuts inflicted during the fight and many scrapes and bruises from his less than graceful landings both on the asphalt and among the pines. Gingerly, he stretched his damaged left wing as far forward as he could. Blood saturated his feathers. A lot of it. He ran his fingers along the flesh of his wing, hissing when he discovered a deep laceration.

The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, and the longer he sat, the worse he felt. He trembled, his body hurt _everywhere_ , and an overwhelming exhaustion dragged at him.

He'd never had a direct encounter with an angel before. He'd always been so careful to keep himself concealed and well away from places he knew angels frequented. But today he'd been caught off guard, and it nearly cost him his life.

The shaking in his hands grew worse. His scrapes and bruises were uncomfortable, but minor. The injury to his wing was much more serious and needed attention. He considered what to do. Perhaps he could heal himself the way he'd healed the humans Dean and Sam. Closing his eyes, he focused on the deep cut. Though he could feel the same energy he'd previously tapped into moving through him, it refused to do what he wanted. Blinking his eyes open again, he wondered if it only worked on humans. He scowled at the injustice of _that_ idea.

If he couldn't heal himself, he'd have to care for the wounds and let them heal on their own. He knew he should clean the cut. He needed water for that. Something to wrap it, perhaps? The cut was deep. Would it heal right? Would it heal at all?

One thing at a time. Pushing back his fears and closing his eyes, Castiel listened to the sounds of the forest around him. There was a creek nearby. Dragging himself laboriously to his feet, he staggered down the gentle slope toward the bubble and splash of water. When he finally reached the stream, he dropped painfully to his knees in the mud along the bank. Lowering his wing into the water, he washed away as much blood as he could.

As he cleaned around the cut itself, he realized it was deeper than he'd thought. It still seeped a steady flow of blood, and he had no way to stop it.

Frowning down at his ragged pants, he decided the weather had warmed enough that he could sacrifice some fabric to bind his wing. He stuck two fingers into the hole at one knee and yanked. With his teeth and a sharp edged stone from the creek, he eventually had enough fabric free to wrap the injury. It was awkward with the strange angle and having to figure out how to accommodate his feathers, but he got it done. At least now it had a chance to stop bleeding.

All the effort it had taken to shred his pants and bind his wing had left him utterly drained. He found a sheltered area near the edge of the stream with enough undergrowth to keep him hidden. Slithering under the foliage, he carefully arranged his aching body and throbbing wing as comfortably as he could and attempted to rest.

But of course it wasn't so easy. Castiel shifted around restlessly trying to sleep, but as the day wore into night, he grew more uncomfortable no matter how he positioned himself. Exhaustion eventually drove him to doze fitfully, and he was plagued with strange dreams that left him uneasy.

Castiel woke with a jolt, disoriented and sweating. He moaned and threw his uninjured wing as wide as he could in his hiding space. Morning had come, bringing heat with it. It seemed much too warm for this time of year, but he didn't actually know where he was, so maybe he was far enough south to explain the oppressive heat.

As he rolled to start wiggling his way out from beneath the underbrush, a sharp pain stole his breath away. His injured wing was worse, and agony lanced down from the wound into the muscles of his back and shoulder. Biting his lip to keep from crying out, he squirmed free of his nest and crawled to the creek's edge to check on his wing.

When he carefully removed his makeshift bandage, he was horrified at the condition of the wound. The flesh around it was hot and swollen, and some of his feathers had fallen out around the lip of it. The gash itself was angry red and seeping a yellowish fluid that had begun to crust in the feathers that remained.

Fear began fraying the edges of his mind, making it almost impossible to think. This was bad. Very, very bad. He choked back his panic. If the angel had just killed him outright, at least it would have been over quickly. He didn't want to die like this – like an animal in the woods.

A wave of dizziness left him panting on all fours in the dirt. He slammed his eyes closed, but tears still managed to escape, mingling with the clammy sweat on his face and running down his cheeks.

Castiel didn't know what to do, and it terrified him. He needed help.

Then a wild thought struck, and if he weren't so desperate, he'd have dismissed the idea without a second thought. There was exactly one being in this entire plane that might help him.

Dean.

Just making the decision to seek the human out calmed him considerably, though he was still dizzy and sick from pain. He let his eyes drift closed and opened himself up, searching for that subtle pull that would tell him where to find the boy.

Summoning every bit of his strength, Castiel staggered to his feet and spread his wings. Searing pain tore through him as he launched himself in Dean's direction, hoping desperately that he would be able to fly far enough.

He was unable to hold back a sobbing cry at the screaming torture of landing in a tumbling heap. He had no idea where he was – if he'd made it.

"Castiel!" He heard a distant voice, but it barely penetrated the haze in his mind.

Everything went mercifully black.


	13. Chapter 13

**March 21, 1992**

The sound of cartoon crashes and explosions was as loud in the kitchen as it was in the living room. Hazards of living in a trailer house, Dean supposed. He looked over the partition into the living room where Sammy was watching _Darkwing Duck_. First day of spring break, and it looked like Sam was going to spend the whole thing in front of the TV.

Dean sighed as he finished washing the last of their breakfast dishes. He still had laundry to do after this, but once that was done, he planned to park himself next to Sammy on the couch for the rest of the day. Maybe the rest of the week. Thirteen wasn't too old to be watching cartoons, right? Glancing over to the grungy stove and table, he added a quick scrub of the kitchen to his list of things to finish before indulging in crap cartoons and maybe some re-runs of _The Incredible Hulk_ or _The Dukes of Hazzard_ later, if he was lucky.

A scream of pain tore through the air, startling Dean into dropping the bowl in his hands. A black and tan blur smashed into the cabinets to Dean's left, splintering the flimsy doors and sending feathers flying.

"Castiel!" Dean's jaw dropped. The angel (no, _not_ an angel, he reminded himself) was sprawled unmoving on the floor, heavily covered in dried blood. "Holy shit!"

"Dean! What the heck was that?" Sammy shouted, skidding into the kitchen on his sock feet. "Ohhh my gosh – is he dead?"

Dean wiped his wet, soapy hands on his jeans and dropped down next to Castiel to reach for his shoulder, turning him gently. He looked like hell, covered in scratches and bruises, and he was out cold.

"His wing, Dean," Sam breathed as he pointed to a horribly infected looking wound on one of the crumpled wings. "He's hurt bad."

Crap, crap, crap. Dean tried to think, his mind spinning uselessly as he stared at the deep, gory cut. He took a breath and forced himself to focus. "Okay. Sam, go get the first aid kit – the good one Dad keeps under his bed."

Nodding, Sam took off at a run to fetch the kit. While he was gone, Dean checked Castiel over, looking for any other severe injuries besides the cut, but only found minor ones. Gingerly, he rearranged Castiel's limbs so he was laying flat on his back. The uninjured wing, he folded up awkwardly and tucked it against the damaged cabinets. The injured one splayed across the kitchen floor, the tips of the ragged primary feathers nearly reaching the far wall.

"Hurry up, Sam!" he hollered impatiently.

"I got it!" his brother answered as he ran back into the kitchen clutching the large box. He handed it over to Dean who grabbed a handful of rags and hand towels from a drawer next to the stove, then crouched at Castiel's head.

Patting the not-angel's fever-hot cheek gently, Dean peered into his face, upside-down to his point of view. "Castiel? Can you hear me?"

Castiel's eyes opened, but only for a moment as he mumbled something unintelligible then dropped back into unconsciousness.

Dean swore as he dug through the first aid kit. He'd forgotten to get more rubbing alcohol after it ran out the last time he'd had to use it. "Crap. Sam, find me some whiskey. Check Dad's sock drawer. If you don't find any there, check under the bathroom sink way in the back."

Sam bolted off again in search of the alcohol.

Dean jumped to his feet and turned on the sink's faucet full blast to let the water heat. Some far away, non-panicking part of his brain was perversely grateful that his dad was such a paranoid ass regarding angels – otherwise, he might not have such a well stocked first aid kit. And Dad had come home often enough after drunken bar fights that Dean had some experience patching up minor injuries. He'd even had to stitch up a nasty cut over Dad's cheekbone one time last year.

Hang on. Dean frowned up at the sigils covering the walls of the trailer. He was so used to the angel warding, it was easy to forget it was there. But if Castiel had made it _inside_ the house... Dean's mouth dropped open. He really _wasn't_ an angel.

He shook himself back to the task at hand. When the water ran hot, he filled a mixing bowl and set it down beside Castiel's wing. He soaked a rag and packed it around the wound to start softening the crusty gunk at the edges. Sam returned with two mostly empty liquor bottles in hand.

"Sam, come around this side. I'm gonna need you to hold his wing while I clean out the wound. Right here, like this, okay?"

Dean removed the rag, returning it to the water. Opening one of the bottles, he splashed whiskey over the wound.

Castiel's wing convulsed, knocking Sam's hands away and spilling the water bowl. Castiel flailed, struggling to sit up in spite of Dean's hand on his shoulder.

"Whoa, whoa! It's okay, it's us! It's Dean. You're hurt, and we're trying to help you."

"Dean?" Castiel's eyes blinked and rolled, trying to focus on the face above him. He slowly relaxed back into the floor. "I made it? I'm very surprised." His words were heavily slurred.

"Yeah, man. Your wing is messed up, and we need to clean it. It's gonna hurt, but we gotta get the infection out, okay?"

Castiel nodded. The injured wing trembled against Dean's knee.

"Try to hold still, all right?" He turned to his brother. "Sam, get me more hot water, please."

Sam refilled the bowl, then ran from the kitchen, returning with a couple bath towels to mop up the spilled water. Dean worked at the wound, cleaning away the crust and scraping out the pus and gunk until all that was left was raw, red flesh. He splashed more whiskey over the cut to flush it out. Castiel hissed and flinched at the sting, tears streaming from the corners of his scrunched shut eyes.

"Sorry, Castiel. I know it hurts." Dean rinsed his hands with more whiskey, then doused the plier thing for holding the needle. He found the packet with the suture and needle and got it ready. "Castiel, look at me. I need to stitch this up. It's gonna hurt a lot, but try not to move."

Castiel's blue eyes were enormous in his pale face as he looked up at Dean. He nodded tightly.

When Dean pushed the needle through for the first stitch, Castiel's face paled even more. As Dean continued, Castiel pressed his lips together and breathed heavily through his nose, but other than a slight tremor, he managed not to move. Dean worked steadily, trying to finish as quickly as possible. It certainly wasn't pretty, but it should get the job done.

As he tied off the last knot, Dean breathed a huge sigh. His hands were shaking, and he felt a little woozy, but he got through it. He poured the last of the whiskey over the stitching and hoped that would be good enough.

"Hey, Sammy?" he rasped. "Can you check and see if Dad still has antibiotics stashed in his bug-out bag?"

After Sam took off again for Dad's room, Dean leaned down and asked, "You still with us, Castiel? You okay?"

Castiel peered up at Dean with fevered, glassy eyes. "I- I don't know."

Sam ran back in with a rattling bottle of pills. He passed them to Dean, who filled a glass of water, then knelt by Castiel again. "Let's get you up."

With a bit of help from Dean, Castiel was able to sit up and scoot around enough to lean back against the busted cabinets. Dean gave Castiel one of the pills and the water and told him to swallow it. Then he fussed over the wound a little more, daubing it with antibiotic ointment and wrapping it in gauze.

"Dean!" Sam's cry was shrill. "It's almost ten!"

"Oh, crap," Dean muttered. He sifted quickly through their options. "Castiel, we need to move you out to the tool shed. Can you stand?"

Castiel took Dean's and Sam's hands and allowed them to pull him to his feet where he swayed unsteadily. "Why?"

"My dad's coming home soon, and he kind of hates angels-" He held up a hand to cut Castiel's protest off before it began. "I know you're not, but all he'll see is a halo. You have to stay here with us for a while to heal, and the only place to keep you out of sight is the shed."

Castiel nodded, probably just too weak to argue. Dean helped support him as he took a few wavering steps, but before they even got out of the kitchen, Castiel's eyes rolled back and he dropped like a stone. The boys managed to keep him from hitting the floor too hard, but there was no way he'd get out to the shed under his own steam.

"Sam, go get all the extra blankets and pillows you can find and take them out there. Find a place where he'll be hidden. I'll bring him."

Castiel was nearly as tall as Dean, but with a slighter frame. Batting feathers out of his face, Dean managed to get Castiel slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, with his wingtips dragging the ground behind him. He staggered out to the tool shed to find Sam had made a great little nest back behind a bunch of the crap Dad had dumped out here.

With Sam's help, he lowered Castiel onto the makeshift sickbed, arranging his wings and covering him with more blankets to keep him as warm and comfortable as possible, considering.

"Hey, Sam, I need to go clean up the kitchen before Dad gets here. Will you stay with him in case he wakes up? Make sure he knows where he is and why he has to stay put?"

"'Course."

Dean grinned at his baby brother. "Thanks, Sammy. You did good in there. Maybe you should be a nurse when you grow up."

"Shut up," Sam grumbled, his face turning pink.

Glancing down at their unconscious patient, Dean said, "Dad can _not_ find out about this. We'll talk later and figure out how we're going to handle it, okay?"

"I know – just go! Dad'll be back soon."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," Dean griped, turning to hustle back to the trailer to clean up.

When he got inside, the TV was still blaring, but it was the _Beetlejuice_ cartoon now instead of _Darkwing Duck_. He shut it off, then surveyed the huge mess in the kitchen: gross pus-covered rags, wet towels, empty whiskey bottles, the entire contents of the first aid kit, and a scattering of black feathers stuck to the wet floor. He made a face and swore under his breath, then started cleaning it all up. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about the damaged cupboard doors, but maybe Dad would be too sauced to notice.

It seemed wrong to hope that Dad would be blind drunk when he got home, but that might actually be their best chance to keep Castiel safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **For the record, male nurses are awesome. Dean's just a dumbass kid teasing his brother.**


	14. Chapter 14

**March 21, 1992**

Castiel opened his eyes to find Sam sitting by his side watching him earnestly.

"You're awake," the young human observed.

Castiel blinked. He'd made it, then.

Injured and deliriously ill, he'd somehow managed to find his way to Dean and Sam. Taking stock of himself, he found that his wing had been bandaged. It hurt, but the hot feeling had gone away. The rest of his body was terribly sore and still covered in scratches and bruises, but he nevertheless felt somewhat better than before.

"What is this place?" he asked, noting the darkness and tight confines of the space.

"Tool shed," Sam replied. "We had to move you from the house so Dad wouldn't find you."

"Why?"

"Dad would flip out. He hates angels."

Castiel felt a rise of what should have been anger, but he was so tired, it mostly just felt like annoyance. "I'm not an angel."

Sam shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Yeah, well, he hates demons, too. Either way it's safer out here."

Pushing the blanket down, Castiel struggled to sit up. His arms were weak, and his wings felt heavy and clumsy, throwing his balance off. Sam watched him uncertainly for a moment before helping him up with a hand on his shoulder.

Once he was upright, Castiel leaned against the stack of tires beside him, puffing air like he'd just fought off another angel. He didn't like the unpleasant smell of the tires, but he appreciated that they supported his weight.

Sam was watching him thoughtfully. "The wards on the house didn't stop you coming in. You're really not an angel, are you?"

"No."

"Then what are you?"

Castiel plucked at the blanket over his knees with his fingertips and didn't answer.

Outside, the crunch of tires on gravel announced the arrival of a car. Sam hopped to his feet. "That's Dad. I gotta go. Stay here, okay? Dean'll come check on your stitches later, so don't leave."

Castiel wasn't sure what he meant by stitches, but he nodded his agreement.

Sam slipped away, weaving through the stacks of boxes and miscellaneous piles of junk. Castiel couldn't see the door from his makeshift nest, but when Sam went through, sunlight streamed in, briefly brightening the dim space and making him squint.

Once he was alone, he lowered himself carefully to his right side, arranging his wings the best he could in the small space, favoring the bandaged side. If he weren't so weak, he'd fly away from this near-captivity in an instant, but the humans had gone to a lot of effort to help him, and the nest of blankets and pillows was actually quite comfortable. Exhaustion dragged him down into sleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

* * *

"Castiel?"

Dean's voice drifted through Castiel's awareness. He pried his eyes open and lifted his head. Dean smiled tentatively from where he sat near his feet. It was much darker than when he'd talked with Sam earlier. If it weren't for the beam of the flashlight Dean directed toward the ground, it would be pitch black in the shed.

"Hey," Dean greeted him softly. "Dad's passed out for the night, so it's safe to come check on you. That's okay, right?"

Castiel nodded and pushed himself to a sitting position. It was easier than before, though he was still terribly sore and shaky.

Dean shuffled closer, then paused with his hand halfway to Castiel's wing. "I'm gonna take the gauze off to see how it looks."

Castiel stretched his wing toward Dean a little, giving silent permission for him to continue.

"Okay," Dean muttered to himself. "Okay." He gently unwrapped the bandages, flicking his eyes occasionally to Castiel's face, perhaps looking for a reaction.

When the wound was uncovered, Dean shined the flashlight on it. Castiel forgot about staying stoic and stared in surprise. The flesh around the injury looked much less angry, and the cut itself was closed up by the stitches that Sam must have been referring to earlier.

"You did this?" he asked.

Dean nodded as he examined the area. "Had to. It was too deep to leave alone." He sat back and rummaged through a paper bag beside him. "Looks pretty good. Infection's gone down a lot. If we keep it clean and you take the antibiotics, it should be all right."

He pulled more gauze and a few other items from the bag. Shaking a small pill from a bottle, Dean offered it to Castiel. "Swallow that," he said.

"What is it?" Castiel asked, though he let Dean drop the pill into his palm.

"Antibiotic. You don't remember taking one this morning?"

Castiel shook his head, and Dean frowned.

"Well, you did, and you'll need to keep taking them – one in the morning, one in the evening – until they're all gone."

Castiel swallowed the pill down, chasing it with a drink of water from a bottle Dean offered him. Then he watched in silence as Dean finished tending to the wound. He put medicine on it and wrapped it up again, carefully working the gauze around Castiel's feathers. When he finished, he plucked a few pine needles from the area around the injury.

"You know...you're kind of a mess." Dean looked at him sidelong as he put the rest of the gauze, the pills, and the water bottle back in the paper bag. He tucked the bag on a metal shelf behind him that was crowded with a jumble of metal parts, then turned back toward Castiel. "Maybe tomorrow once Dad's gone, we can see about getting you cleaned up."

Castiel just shrugged uneasily, not entirely sure how he felt about that, but Dean seemed to take it as an affirmative.

"Cool," he said. "Are you hungry? Do you eat?"

He shook his head.

"So, um. Can I ask...? What happened to you?"

Castiel looked away and pressed his lips into a tight line.

"Right. Never mind, then." Dean stood and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Castiel blurted out.

Dean hesitated. "Yeah?"

An anxious feeling tightened Castiel's stomach, but he had to ask. "Why would your father believe me to be an angel? Why did you?"

"Well... you healed me. It just seemed kind of obvious after that." Dean waved a hand toward Castiel's head. "And your halo's a pretty big clue."

Castiel felt the blood drain from his face. "What?"

It wasn't possible. Castiel's hand drifted up to touch the back of his head, but it felt the same as it always had since the day he'd been abducted and abandoned in this world. Dean must be confused or somehow mistaken. He had to be.

"Dude. You didn't know you have a halo?" Dean asked gently.

"No. No, that can't be right." Castiel pushed himself back, scrambling weakly away from Dean and his ridiculous assertions. "You're wrong!"

"Whoa, hey, it's okay-"

" _I'm not an angel!_ " he shouted, clamping his hands in his hair and drawing his wings around himself as tightly as their limited mobility allowed.

"I know!" Dean held up his hands in a calming gesture. "I know – you crossed through Dad's angel warding today. That proves you aren't one."

Castiel froze, his hands shaking and his alula feathers spiking up in his distress. "I'm not an angel?" he asked, desperate for reassurance.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know what you are, Castiel, but you're not an angel."


	15. Chapter 15

**March 21-22, 1992**

Dean watched Castiel's rigid posture slowly ease after he reassured him he couldn't be an angel. The feathers of his wings went from upset-ruffled back to normal-ruffled, the ragged spikes smoothing out as Castiel's shoulders relaxed.

"Hey. I'm gonna head back in. Let you get some sleep, all right?"

Castiel's eyes shone huge in the darkness. He nodded.

As Dean turned to go, he added, "Don't forget to take another pill in the morning. I'll come as soon as I can tomorrow to check your stitches."

Figuring the best thing he could do for the guy was leave him alone to think, Dean left the shed and walked back to the house. He was careful to keep quiet going back in, since the trailer had paper thin walls and a creaky door, but Dad was passed out in his recliner in the living room, snoring thickly at the back of his throat. Dean picked up the empty cans scattered around the chair and moved them to the kitchen before heading for Sam's room.

Sammy was on his bed propped up against the wall with his pillow behind him, reading some book with a picture of a pig and a spider on the front. He looked up as Dean slid the door shut behind him. "How is he?" Sam whispered.

Dean dropped to sit on the end of Sam's bed with a bounce. "Cut looks way better. I think he'll be fine once it heals up. But Sammy, get this – he didn't know he had a halo."

Sam's face scrunched up in confusion. "How could he not know that?"

"Beats me, but he kinda freaked out about it. He wouldn't tell me how he got hurt, either." He looked up at his brother with a wry face. "I don't think he'd stay here if he didn't have to."

It kind of hurt Dean's feelings that Castiel didn't trust him enough to talk to him. Them. But he'd never admit it aloud.

"I'm going to bed. Gonna get up early and check on him again before Dad wakes up." He stood and ruffled Sam's too-long hair.

Sam slapped his hand away with a sour look. "Cut it out!"

"Whatever, midget. G'night."

"Night."

Dean brushed his teeth and got ready for bed, but when he finally crawled under the covers, he couldn't sleep. There were too many thoughts and worries swirling around his noggin. Even though Castiel had always denied it, Dean had been convinced he was an angel, despite the demon-y wings. It was a lot to absorb.

His injury seemed to be doing better at least, but Dean really had no clue – he was just doing the best he could since there wasn't anyone else to help. He huffed in frustration. He wanted Castiel to heal but was afraid he'd leave the second his wing would let him, and Dean really didn't want him to go.

He wished he knew why Castiel didn't seem to like him. Dean had a few friends from school, but no one particularly close. How could he have close friends when he was embarrassed for anyone to see his home life? He had Sam, of course, but that was different – he was just a kid. Plus Sam was his brother. He _had_ to like Dean.

Rolling over and punching his pillow back to fluffiness, Dean decided he didn't care. It wasn't like he was lonely or anything. If Castiel didn't like him, that was fine.

He didn't care.

* * *

Early the next morning before his dad woke up, Dean ran out to the shed. Pushing open the door, he was relieved to see that the not-angel was still there, asleep in his nest. He looked so small curled up like that, even with the giant wings. The clearest memory Dean had of the first time he'd seen Castiel was how he looked just before he flew away after pulling him from that pond. Standing over him with his wings spread, he'd been so intimidating. Now he just looked vulnerable.

Crouching down next to the bundle of blankets, Dean reached out to nudge a foot. "Castiel?"

Castiel's feet jerked back as he startled awake, scrambling to sit up. When his eyes settled on Dean, he calmed immediately. "Dean."

"Hey. Just a quick check in to see how you're feeling."

Rolling his shoulders and cautiously stretching his bandaged wing, Castiel nodded. "Better."

Dean waited, but no details followed. "Okay, then. Since it feels okay, I won't re-bandage until this evening. My dad usually goes out, so you should be able to come inside for a while. It must kinda suck being stuck out here by yourself."

With a nearly non-existent shrug, Castiel said softly, "I'm always by myself."

"Oh." Dean didn't know what he expected, but the idea of Castiel living his whole life without anyone else at all made him feel terrible. Maybe it was the same protective instincts he had for Sam, but he just wanted to tuck Castiel into bed and make him soup or hot chocolate. Of course, he didn't eat so...

"Um," he continued after an awkward silence, "well, tonight you can come hang out with us. We can get you cleaned up and watch TV or something. If you want."

A strange expression crossed Castiel's face, something subtle and impossible to define. He looked hard at Dean for a few moments – maybe waiting for a punchline or something – then he nodded. "Okay."

"Great!" Dean grinned happily. "I'll come get you when it's all clear, okay? Meanwhile, don't forget to take your antibiotic."

In answer, Castiel reached for the bag that held the pills and water bottle.

Dean stood to leave, but Castiel spoke up before he got far. "Dean? Thank you." His gaze shifted nervously, but then he looked up to meet Dean's eyes directly. "For helping me."

Grinning, Dean replied, "You're welcome. You can always come to me if you need something."

A faint smile graced Castiel's lips, and it was the best thing Dean had seen all week. He left the shed, heading back to the house with a lightness in his step he hadn't felt in a long time.


	16. Chapter 16

**March 22, 1992**

Hours dragged by in the dim light of the tool shed. Until now, Castiel had spent his time in the shed asleep, but now he was wide awake and fidgety. He prowled the interior, poking into boxes and digging through piles, partly out of boredom, but also out of curiosity. After he'd thoroughly explored the small space, he had nothing to distract him from his itchy wing or from fretting over his impending visit with Dean and Sam. Being cooped up was frustrating and stressful, but the prospect of "hanging out" was nerve-wracking.

As grateful as he was to the humans for their care and assistance after his injury, they were still humans, and he wasn't entirely comfortable around them. And it seemed the more Castiel shied away from them, the clingier Dean became. He could feel the boy's desire for companionship, but it only made Castiel nervous, not knowing what was expected of him. Sam was easier to be around. Possibly his smaller size made him feel like less of a threat, but his manner was less overwhelming as well. Even so, Castiel was anxious.

By the time the door finally opened some time late in the afternoon, the mounting stress had caused Castiel to pluck and shred several feathers. Dean saw the mess and frowned worriedly.

"Castiel? How are you doing?"

He shrugged his injured wing and twitched his alula feathers. "It itches."

"That's normal – means it's healing. Dad's gone. You wanna come in?"

Castiel stood while Dean gathered the bag of first aid supplies, then followed silently as Dean led the way back to the trailer house. As they crossed the threshold, Castiel could feel the odd sensation of the angel wards. They didn't hinder him at all, but he could feel them trying.

Sam sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of something orange. He smiled at Castiel. "Hi. Want some mac and cheese?"

Castiel hovered just inside the door and shook his head in answer to Sam. He hoped "hanging out" didn't mean eating things.

"Nah, Sam, he doesn't eat. More mac for you, dude." Dean smirked at his brother, but Castiel noticed it was a bit lopsided.

Looking more closely, Castiel saw an odd discoloration on Dean's jaw and a small cut on his puffy lower lip. "Dean?"

"Huh? Oh..." Dean flushed when he realized what Castiel was looking at and shot a glance over at Sam. The blush spreading over his skin only highlighted the swelling in his face. "It's nothing."

Dragging a chair out from the table, Dean gestured for Castiel to sit. "Let's take a look at that wing," he said with forced cheeriness.

Instead of sitting, Castiel stepped close enough that he could reach out to lay a gentle hand on Dean's injured cheek. He pulled on the energies that simmered under his skin and sought out the damaged tissue. As naturally as breathing, he healed the bruising and the split lip. It was much easier than healing broken bones.

"Oh," Dean seemed surprised. As Castiel drew his hand back, Dean reached up to touch his face tentatively and prodded the inside of his lip with his tongue. "Um, thank you. I didn't even think of that."

"Castiel? How come you didn't heal yourself?" Sam asked curiously, his dinner momentarily forgotten.

Castiel frowned. "I tried. It didn't work. I don't know why."

There was a tense moment of silence after that where no one seemed to know what to say. Finally, Castiel sat at the very edge of the chair Dean had pulled out. He opened his wing and looked expectantly toward Dean who quickly went to work unwrapping the gauze. When the last of it came off, he nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw under the bandages.

"Still looking good. Before we re-wrap it, though, you're going to take a shower," Dean announced.

Castiel tipped his head in question.

"Dude, you're filthy. You don't want your wing to get infected again. Come on," Dean turned and walked from the kitchen, down the narrow hallway that ran half the length of the trailer. Castiel trailed uncertainly behind him, tucking his wings tight to his back to keep from scraping them along the walls.

"In here." Dean ushered him into the bathroom. At Castiel's blank look, he asked, "Have you ever used a shower before?"

Castiel shook his head. He'd never had reason to be inside a human house before, but maybe Dean didn't realize that.

Dean showed him how to work the various knobs and nozzles and carefully explained about soap and shampoo and how to use them. He handed him a washcloth and a towel and told him what to do with those, as well.

"Hang on a sec." Dean disappeared down the hallway, returning a moment later with a pair of jeans. "Yours are pretty well wrecked. You can have these. I think they should fit okay."

Just as Dean was leaving, he turned back and said, "Oh, and I checked the first aid book-thing. It said you could shower with stitches after twenty-four hours, but try to keep them out of the water as much as you can, okay? We'll doctor you up when you're done."

Dean left and shut the door behind him. For a moment, Castiel stared at the closed door, half expecting Dean to reappear with something else to say. But the door stayed closed, so he turned toward the shower and eyed it warily. He turned on the water like Dean had shown him and adjusted it to a comfortable, cool temperature. Stripping off the torn remains of his pants, he stepped into the shower, letting the water rain down over him, stinging in his many cuts and scrapes. He ducked his head under the spray. It took a while for the water to penetrate the thick tangles down to his scalp, but it felt sort of nice when it did.

Soap and shampoo were strange – slick and bubbly and odd smelling, though not unpleasant. His scalp and skin ached as he scrubbed away layers of grime, and when he was done, he felt raw but fresh like new spring grass.

Dean hadn't specified what to do with his wings other than to keep his stitches out of the water. Since soap stripped away oil as well as dirt, he didn't want to use it on his feathers. His oil glands kept them healthy enough, so he just let the water run down over his wings. He ran his fingers through the feathers to straighten them and work out most of the pine needles and other debris.

Finally, Castiel turned the water off and dried himself with the towel. The urge to shake out his wings was strong, but he resisted, blotting them dry with the towel instead. Finally, he pulled on the worn jeans Dean had provided. They were slightly loose, but were comfortable enough, even on his now-sensitive skin.

He made his way back out to the living room where Sam was reading on the couch. The boy looked up at his arrival and his eyes widened.

"Whoa," he said, cocking his head to one side. "You look different!"

Dean wandered in from the kitchen with his own bowl of orange mac and cheese and grinned. "Feel better?"

Castiel nodded, even though he wasn't sure he felt better exactly. Different, certainly.

Sam laughed. "Man, Dean's gonna get on you about cutting your hair. He thinks _mine's_ too long!"

"Why would I do that?" Castiel asked. Many humans and angels he'd seen over the years had short hair, but he'd never put any thought as to why.

"Don't, if you don't want to!" Sam said with a grin.

Dean gave a long-suffering sigh. "Sure, Sam. Encourage the guy to look like a hippie. It's cool."

Confused, Castiel looked back and forth between the two brothers uncertainly.

"Never mind, Cas." Dean turned to head back into the kitchen. "Come on, let's go bandage you."

The shortening of his name gave him pause, but Castiel didn't say anything about it. He followed Dean into the kitchen and sat on the same chair as before, opening his wing to allow it to be wrapped.

Dean went through the familiar process, dabbing the wound with medicine before carefully wrapping it in gauze. The application of the ointment made his wing twitch, the wound itched so badly, but Dean had said itching was good, so he ignored it. After Dean finished, he picked out another pine needle that Castiel had missed during his shower and smoothed out the damp feathers. It felt odd having someone else preen them. Not bad. Just odd.

"So, about your hair...can I talk you into cutting it?"

Castiel shook his head. He didn't see the point, and though he didn't distrust Dean, he didn't particularly want him hovering around his head with something sharp, either.

Dean sighed, much as he had toward Sam, while he absently plucked another leaf from Castiel's wing. "Fine. You should at least comb it out, though. It's pretty gnarly."

He seemed to take Castiel's non-committal shrug as a yes and left the kitchen, disappearing into the back of the trailer. Castiel wandered back into the living room where Sam was still reading on the couch. The boy flicked his eyes up from the book when Castiel sat down stiffly at the other end.

"Hey, are you doing okay?" Sam asked. "I bet this is kind of a lot for you to take in all at once, huh?"

Castiel looked at him sharply, unsettled at being so easily read by the human boy. He'd thought he had been keeping himself calm and collected, but perhaps not as successfully as he'd hoped. He nodded hesitantly.

Sam folded a page down and closed his book. "It's okay. We don't mind if you need some time to get used to us." With a snort, he added, "Dean gets a little intense sometimes."

A smile tried to break free on Castiel's face, and though he tried to contain it, Sam must have seen, because he grinned broadly.

Castiel turned to peer down the hallway, but saw no sign of Dean returning, so he turned back to Sam. "How was Dean injured?"

The smile instantly dropped from Sam's face, replaced by a guarded sadness. He shrugged. "Dad noticed the broken cupboards from your crash landing."

Castiel tried to work out why that would end up with Dean injured, but he couldn't see the connection.

Seeing his confusion, Sam added softly, "Dean said he'd done it. Dad hit him."

An unpleasant feeling welled up, making it hard to breathe. Castiel whispered, "But Dean didn't break them. I did."

"He couldn't exactly tell Dad that." Sam reached out and touched his arm. "It's okay, Castiel. It's not your fault."

But it was. Dean had been hurt because of him. Yes, Dean and Sam were humans, but he would never want to see either of them hurt. His stomach twisted into a tight knot.

Sam was still talking. "Just don't tell Dean I told you, okay? He'll be mad."

Castiel nodded vaguely, then turned toward the hallway as he heard Dean making his way back.

As he entered the living room, Dean held up a wide-toothed comb in triumph. "Found one!" When neither Sam nor Castiel responded, Dean asked, "What? What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Sam said quickly. "We were just talking. Hey, Castiel, can you read?"

Puzzled by the sudden change of subject, Castiel blinked, then nodded again. After so many years of watching humans, he'd absorbed the ability without really trying.

"I should get you some books to read while you're stuck out there in the shed – give you something to do." Sam hopped off the couch, dropping his own book and disappearing down the hallway at a trot.

Castiel stared at the empty hall for a moment before glancing up at Dean, who was frowning after Sam suspiciously. But then Dean grunted and turned to Castiel.

"Found a comb." He tossed it over. "You know what to do with that?"

At Castiel's hesitation, Dean dropped onto the couch and plucked the comb back out of his hands. He gestured with it toward Castiel's mass of hair. "I can show you. That okay?"

Castiel nodded, but still had to fight the urge to flinch away as Dean drew closer and separated one long clump of hair from the rest. Dean kept his movements slow and easy, and Castiel gradually relaxed.

"You're gonna have to be patient," Dean explained. "This'll take forever to untangle since it's practically dreadlocks."

Castiel watched Dean work, but was focused on his face rather than what his hands were doing. His lip was whole again, and his jaw unmarked, but how long had he borne the injuries inflicted upon him because of Castiel?

"Dean." His attempts to remain collected were beginning to fail, and his voice wavered.

Dean paused, his eyes flicking up to meet Castiel's. A small frown pulled his brows together. "Cas? What's wrong?"

Words jammed up in Castiel's throat until he could say nothing at all. He'd promised Sam he wouldn't say anything to Dean about it, but the guilt he felt at being responsible for Dean's injuries was choking him.

"I-" He couldn't force the words out, so he tried different ones. "It was an angel."

Dean's frown deepened. "What?"

Castiel couldn't meet Dean's gaze any longer. "An angel attacked me. That's how I was hurt."

"Oh," Dean replied. He seemed confused and as lost for words as Castiel.

"I just...thought I should tell you," Castiel finished.

Dean nodded thoughtfully. He looked back down to Castiel's hair in his hands and began methodically working the tangles free again. For a long time he was quiet, and Castiel simply watched him, his chest squeezing painfully.

"My, um- My lip." Dean waved the comb to indicate his face without raising his eyes. "Well, uh... My dad's an asshole."

He didn't elaborate beyond that, but Castiel could feel how difficult it was for him to say as much as he did and how raw and vulnerable it left him. He also knew how distressed Dean would be if he knew how clearly he broadcast his feelings to Castiel, a phenomenon that only seemed to be getting stronger the more time Castiel spent here.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said, meaning it in every way.

Dean went still, staring intently at the comb in his hand. Castiel could feel the storm of emotion that churned up within the boy, but couldn't understand the reason behind it.

At last, Dean gave a shrug and a nervous laugh. "No big deal," he said. Leaning back, he shouted toward the back of the house, "Hey, Sam! Five minutes till _Funniest Home Videos!_ " Turning back to Castiel, he said, "You'll like this show. It's mostly people caught on camera being stupid."

Dean offered Castiel the comb he still had clutched in his hand. "Here, it's all yours. Good luck with that hair. When you change your mind, I got scissors with your name on them."

Dean smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Castiel took the comb silently and turned his attention to his matted lock of hair, determined to work the tangles out.


	17. Chapter 17

**March 22-24, 1992**

Dean heard Sam give a whoop from his room and come thundering out to the living room – the kid loved that stupid home video show. While Sam flipped to the right channel, Dean looked back over to Castiel at the other end of the couch, trying to comb out the rat's nest on his head. Dean chewed a thumbnail as he watched. He'd been happy that Cas had opened up to him finally – told him how he'd gotten hurt. And in return, Dean had told Cas how he'd gotten his busted lip, and that was the weird part. Dean never told _anyone_ about things like that. Ever.

The show started, but apparently, the humor didn't translate very well. Bob Saget showed one hilarious home video after another, but whether it was cats falling off TVs, jump scares, farting dogs, or even nut shots, Castiel just looked perplexed, glancing back and forth between the television and Sam laughing his head off in Dad's recliner. After a while, he stopped paying attention to the show and just worked on untangling his hair.

Disappointment sat heavily on Dean's chest. He'd wanted Cas to like the show, to like hanging out with them... to like _them_. Instead, he looked miserable, all hunched in on himself.

For the rest of the half hour the show was on, Castiel kept working on his dreadlocks. After the show was over, everything was just uncomfortable since there wasn't anything good on TV, and the three of them didn't seem to have anything to talk about. Sam, the unhelpful traitor, went back to reading his book, leaving Dean to flounder around like an idiot.

Eventually, Castiel looked so unhappy, Dean said, "I guess we should get you back out to the shed. Dad might not show up until morning, but he _could_ get here any time after nine, so..."

The relief on Castiel's face sent a little zing of hurt right through Dean.

"Oh, wait!" Sam cried, jumping up from his chair and racing down the hall. "I picked out some books for you!"

He came barreling back a minute later and handed a small stack of books to Castiel. "I didn't know what you would like, so I picked a few."

"Thank you," Castiel told him, accepting them solemnly. Then he turned to Dean expectantly.

Dean went to the kitchen to find one of the flashlights in the broom closet since it'd gotten dark while the show was on. "Come on," he said, gathering up the first aid supplies and forcing a smile.

They walked back out to the shed in silence. Dean went in first, all the way to the back and gathered up Castiel's bedding.

"Let me shake this out real quick. Since you showered, it'll be more comfortable if there's not a bunch of crud in the blankets."

He took the pile outside and shook the blankets out one by one. After the first one, Castiel helped, too. Dean watched him furiously shaking a ratty Star Wars comforter that used to be Sam's. His wings were spread a bit to help him balance, the white bandages bright in the darkness.

They reassembled Castiel's little nest, and Cas took his antibiotic and tucked the books from Sam onto the nearby shelves. Dean knew he should leave, but he couldn't help lingering as Castiel got settled in again.

"Cas? Um. I'm sorry about tonight. I thought you might like some company, but I guess maybe I should've just let you be."

Castiel studied him with a frown. "Dean, you did nothing wrong. I appreciate all you've done for me."

"You do?" Dean did his best to stifle the hope that sparked up.

"Of course. You've gone to great effort and put yourself at risk to help me." Castiel looked away. "It's just... being around people is difficult."

"You're always alone?"

Castiel nodded slowly.

"Doesn't that suck?" Dean couldn't help but ask. The thought of Cas being so alone was awful. At least Dean always had Sam, no matter how crappy everything else might be.

"I don't know." Castiel's eyes flickered up to Dean's face and away again just as quickly. "It's just the way it is."

"Well, it doesn't have to be, you know," Dean offered. "You can always come hang out with me and Sam. At least, when Dad's not here. If you want." He held his breath, watching Castiel hopefully despite his best efforts to squash the niggling optimism.

But Castiel didn't have an answer for him. He just looked at Dean uncertainly.

"Um. No pressure," Dean added, shrugging as if it didn't matter to him whether or not Castiel ever came back after his wing healed. "I'm gonna head back in. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Castiel nodded, "Tomorrow."

Dean handed him the flashlight. "For reading," he explained. "G'night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."

* * *

But Dean wasn't able to get out to the shed on Monday. Dad was home, and Dean was on the receiving end of his bad temper the whole day. Awesome way to spend his spring break. He got Sam to go out to check on Castiel briefly when Dad went to shower, but didn't dare go out there himself. Dad always kept closer tabs on Dean than he did on Sam, and he didn't want to be out of earshot whenever his dad yelled for him next.

When Sam slipped quietly back into the house, he shot a glance at Dean, flashing a thumbs up to reassure him that Castiel was fine. Dean sighed in relief. He hated worrying so much, but having Dad home while Cas was hidden out there was wrecking his nerves.

By Tuesday morning, Dean had bitten his thumbnails down to the quick. Finally, around nine, Dad left for work, and the knot in Dean's stomach slowly relaxed. He waited a few minutes to make sure he was really gone. It would be just his luck if his dad had forgotten to take his wallet or something with him and turned around to get it.

"Hey, Sammy, I'm gonna go see if Castiel wants to come in," he yelled down the hall as he shoved on his sneakers without unlacing them.

"'Kay!" Sam hollered back.

Dean jumped down the front steps and hurried across the withered lawn to the tool shed. "Castiel?" he called out, pushing open the rickety door.

"Dean," came the immediate reply.

Castiel looked a whole lot less anxious than he did the last time Dean had seen him. He was working on his hair, and he'd managed to comb out a few of the dreadlocks so far. The hair that'd been freed was fuzzy and kind of flyaway from being knotted up so tightly for so long.

"Hey, my dad's gone to work. You want to come in so we can check your wing?"

Castiel picked up his comb and one of the books Sam had loaned him and followed Dean back to the house, brushing back the long fluff of his hair as the breeze blew it into his face.

Once inside, he pulled out a chair and sat, extending his wing so Dean could work. Sam trotted into the kitchen to watch, giving Castiel a grin and a "Hey," as he dragged his own chair out from the table.

As he unwrapped the wound, Dean said, "Sorry you had to be stuck out there all day yesterday. Dad was off work and didn't go out at all."

"It was fine." Castiel watched as he pulled the gauze free, peering at the injured spot. "It was much better with something to occupy me. Thank you for the books, Sam."

"You're welcome!" Sam answered brightly. "Did you finish any?"

Castiel nodded his head toward the book on the table. "That one. I'm not sure I understand it, though. Are there many people who can speak to animals as Fern does or is it an uncommon gift?"

Sam laughed. "Of course not! It's not real, it's just a story."

Castiel stared at the book with a frown. "A story?"

"Yeah, it's just made up. You know, for fun."

"I see," Castiel said, though he didn't look like he understood at all. "Is all of it a lie?"

"No, it's not a lie, it's just fiction. Like, to entertain people." Sam explained. "Fern's not a real person, and pigs don't really talk, and spiders don't really write words in their webs, but it's still a good story."

Throwing the old gauze into the trash can, Dean said, "Hey, not to interrupt your book club meeting, but it looks like the cut's healed enough we don't need to cover it anymore. I guess that'll probably feel a lot better on your feathers."

"Yes," Castiel agreed, drawing his wing in to inspect the stitches up close. "The bandages were not very comfortable."

"Just take it easy on your wing, okay? Just because you _can_ move it around more doesn't mean you should."

Castiel nodded, folding his wing back to a more neutral position. "I'll be careful."

Dean made shooing motions with his hands. "You guys go on with your book talk. I'll be back in a bit."

He made his way to Dad's bedroom at the back of the trailer. It was supposed to be totally off limits to the boys, but occasionally Dean snooped. Sometimes because he needed something – like the first aid kit that had let them fix Castiel's wing – but sometimes just because.

Right now, he was after something specific. On the top shelf in the closet, he'd long ago discovered a box that contained stuff that could only be left over from when Dad banished Gabriel. As he pulled the box from its place on the shelf, Dean stopped for a moment, remembering what little he could of the angel he hadn't seen since he was five years old. Mostly all he had anymore were vague impressions of what he'd looked like and the feelings of sorrow and loss that had followed the banishment. Plus a fondness for Tootsie Rolls he hadn't been able to shake in the years since.

He smiled a little, shaking off the melancholy before sitting on the bed and digging into the box, sorting through the odd mix of bones, charms, vials of mysterious liquids, and other unidentifiable things until he found what he was after – a small silver knife in a black leather sheath.

"Dean?"

Castiel stood just inside the doorway with a look of concern on his face.

"Hey, Cas."

"What's wrong?"

Dean looked up in surprise. "What? What do you mean?"

Castiel hesitated. "You were...sad."

"I- How did you know that?"

Looking like he now wished he hadn't said anything, Castiel eventually answered, "You _felt_ sad."

"You can tell what I'm feeling?" Dean didn't like that at all.

"Not all the time," Castiel tried to reassure him. "Only when you're close by or if you feel something strongly. Like how I knew you needed help when you broke your ankle and when Sam broke his arm."

"Dude, that's creepy!"

Castiel's face fell. "I'm sorry, Dean. It's not something I have control over."

"No, wait, please?" Dean said as Castiel started to turn and leave. "Look, it's fine, okay? I didn't mean you should go or anything. It's just... the junk in the box reminded me of someone I lost a long time ago. I was thinking about him is all. I, uh. I actually came in here to get this for you."

He handed the blade to Castiel, handle first. Castiel took it slowly, frowning as he drew the knife from its sheath and turned it, looking at it in the light from the window. The knife was simple but elegant. Castiel brushed his fingers delicately over the subtle etching on the grip.

"I wanted you to have something to protect yourself. In case you run into another angel or something."

Castiel looked up at Dean, who suddenly wished he could read Cas as easily as Cas could apparently read him.

"This...is for me?" Castiel's eyes seemed even more impossibly blue than usual as his stare burned holes into Dean.

Fidgeting under the intense gaze, Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. So you'll be safe."

Castiel dropped his eyes back down to the knife. "Thank you, Dean. This is... Thank you."

He slid the knife back into its sheath and clutched it tightly in his hand. Looking up again, he gave Dean a small smile – nothing big, but an honest to goodness smile.

Dean smiled back. "You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Charlotte's Web is written by E.B. White, illustrated by Garth Williams.**


	18. Chapter 18

**March 25, 1992**

The next morning, Castiel made another attempt to comb the tangles from his hair as he waited for Dean and Sam to tell him it was safe to emerge from hiding. After he'd returned to the shed the previous evening, he'd worked on his hair for a while, but frustration and impatience led him to read one of Sam's books instead.

His mood didn't improve with the book – he found it upsetting, and wondered why Sam had chosen that particular story. And now, working on his hair again, he found his frustration with it had only increased.

When Dean opened the door to the shed a few minutes after his father had left for work, Castiel flung the comb to the ground and snapped, "Cut my hair."

After a moment of surprised silence, Dean laughed. "What made you change your mind?"

Castiel huffed in annoyance and grumbled, "I can't comb it out – it's impossible. And even if I could, the parts I have untangled won't stay out of my face. It gets in my eyes and tickles my nose. I don't like it. I want you to cut it."

"Okay, then. Let's go do it." Dean leaned in and raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. "Hey, maybe you can help me get Sam to cut his hair, too."

"Sam said I shouldn't have to cut mine if I didn't want to. I would assume the same rule applies to him."

"Oh, fine, take his side," Dean said with a chuckle as he led the way back toward the trailer. "Hey, the weather's good. Let's do it outside so we won't have to sweep up the kitchen."

Castiel shrugged and brushed the wild hair out of his face _again_. He didn't care where they did it, as long as it got done. Soon. Now.

Dean directed Castiel to take one of the kitchen chairs outside while he found some scissors. Sam bounced out of the house with both hands full of small plastic figures shaped like people, but he dropped them in the dirt and came over to watch Castiel's haircut.

"Are you sure about this? Ain't no putting it back once it's cut," Dean warned.

Castiel pushed the fuzz behind his ear, hopefully for the last time. "I'm sure."

"Okay, then. I'm going to cut most of it off just to get rid of it, then we'll go back and fix the rest."

Dean got to work, and Castiel was surprised to realize it didn't bother him. Before, when Dean had asked about cutting his hair, Castiel had been uncomfortable with the idea of the human behind him with scissors in hand. But now that they were here, he found he didn't mind it at all.

What felt like less than a minute later, Dean stepped back and said, "That's the bulk of it. I left a towel next to the kitchen sink. Go in and get your hair wet under the faucet, dry it off with the towel, and come back here and we'll do the real work."

Castiel turned to look at Dean and was startled by how different it felt. His head felt light and free without the weight of his hair. On the ground, the discarded dreadlocks looked unnervingly like a dead animal – broken and lifeless. He stood and headed toward the house, rubbing his head as he went, threading his fingers into the much shorter locks and tugging at them. It was such an odd sensation.

Inside, he did as Dean had asked, wetting his hair, then returning outside with it towel-dried. He sat again on the chair in the yard, straddling the seat and resting his arms along the back. Dean worked quickly, combing out sections of hair and cutting them. The two of them moved almost as one, with Castiel unconsciously shifting his wings out of the way as Dean moved around him without Dean having to ask.

As Dean snipped away at Castiel's hair, Sam sat in the grass in front of them and asked, "Did you read more?"

The strange feeling of disquiet that had plagued him while he'd been reading last night returned. "Yes. The one called _Hatchet_."

"Did you like it?"

Castiel hesitated. "I don't think so."

Sam looked crestfallen. "Oh. Why not? It's a great story."

Castiel frowned as he thought about it. In the book, a boy named Brian had been the lone survivor of a plane crash in the Canadian wilderness. His family had no angel, so the boy was forced to find a way to survive until he could be found. "Was this story also about a pretend person?"

"Yeah," Sam answered.

"It felt too real," Castiel finally explained. "It made me remember, and I didn't like it." He bit down on his lip in an effort to keep it from quaking.

The snip-snip of the scissors stopped.

Sam looked up at Castiel with wide eyes. "Remember what?"

Castiel closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. It was in the past. He was fine now. Had been for a long time. "When I first came here. I was lost and alone like Brian."

"Cas..." Dean's soft voice was in his ear, but Castiel wouldn't look at him or at Sam.

"I'm sorry, Castiel," Sam said. "I didn't mean for you to be upset."

Castiel let a corner of his mouth turn upward. "It's all right, Sam. It was a long time ago. The story just brought it back."

Sam's forehead was crumpled up in concern, but he nodded anyway.

The three were quiet for a few uncomfortable moments, then Dean went back to clipping away at Castiel's hair.

"So, Sammy," Dean ventured after a while, "are you gonna let me do you next? All the cool kids are doing it." He snipped the scissors dramatically in the air.

"No!" Sam jumped to his feet and ran back over to the toys he'd dumped in the gravel and dirt of the driveway. He picked up a few of the figures and began arranging them to play, all the while shooting glances back toward Dean, as if he thought his brother might sneak up behind him and cut his hair anyway.

Dean worked quietly after that, and Castiel let his thoughts wander over the last few days. He'd grown to trust these two humans more than he would have believed possible. He even thought he might like them, which was bizarre beyond imagining. _Liking_ humans. Well, two of them anyway. Castiel's eyes drifted closed. He was getting surprisingly used to being touched. It was actually sort of nice to have Dean preen his hair.

"Done," Dean announced, as he brushed the stray bits of hair from the back of Castiel's neck with a towel.

Castiel reached up with both hands, combing his fingers through the short strands and scratching at his scalp. "It feels so strange." He shook his head and tipped it forward and back. He felt light and airy, but also oddly chilly as the breeze touched his ears and neck.

"Go take a look," Dean suggested, and at Castiel's frown, he added, "In the mirror. Don't you want to see how it looks?"

Since Dean seemed anxious for him to see, Castiel nodded and followed him into the trailer, with Sam scampering in behind them. Though he'd seen his reflection before in water, metal, and glass, he'd never given any consideration to his appearance. But when he caught sight of himself in the mirror - a proper mirror - his heart raced. He stared in shock, not at the state of his hair, but at the shimmering halo that distorted the air around his head, perfectly reflected in the glass. He turned this way and that, but there was no mistaking what it was. Equally horrified and fascinated, he reached up to touch it.

"What d'you think?" Dean asked.

Castiel blinked and brought his attention back to the haircut he was supposed to be assessing. If nothing else, it certainly ensured his hair would no longer get in his eyes or tickle his nose.

"It looks good!" Sam approved, but qualified it as he covered his shaggy head with protective hands. "On him! It looks good on him."

Castiel tugged at the hair that only reached part way down his forehead now, and met Dean's eyes in the mirror. "Thank you, Dean. It's much better this way."

Dean beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hatchet is by Gary Paulsen**


	19. Chapter 19

**March 25-26, 1992**

They spent the rest of the day outside, which Castiel preferred to the close confines of the trailer or shed. He could stretch his wings outside, which he did cautiously to avoid tearing his stitches. Dean told him the stitches could come out soon. Castiel's elation at the news cooled a bit as he realized that once they were removed, there would no longer be a reason to stay. He pushed the thoughts aside, instead enjoying the company of the human brothers until it was time for their father to return from work.

Relegated to the shed for the evening, Castiel started another of the books Sam had brought him – this one about a mouse with a sick son and a group of extraordinary rats.

Suddenly, he dropped the half-finished book and sat bolt upright. Something had happened. Dean was in pain and both he and his brother were afraid. Castiel shot to his feet, his wings shivering with the effort it took to refrain from flying directly to Dean, never mind his father and Castiel's stitches. But Dean had been clear. His father could _not_ find out about Castiel.

Instead he waited, pacing the small interior of the shed until he was ready to tear the carefully trimmed hair straight out of his scalp. He itched with the need to _go_. To _help_. But he could do nothing but wait.

And wait.

After what seemed like forever, Castiel heard the distinctive roar of their father's vehicle as he started it up and tore out of the driveway, gravel spitting from under the tires. Before it even registered that the sound meant he could go inside, the door to the shed flew open and Sam was there, the marks of tears still on his cheeks and smears of blood on his hands and shirt.

"Please, Castiel, Dean needs help. He's being a jerk and won't come out to ask you. Please!"

Castiel was already moving before Sam finished speaking. They dashed back to the trailer, bursting through the front door. They found Dean in the bathroom, blood all down one side of his face and one arm tucked tightly against his side. He was trying to stem the flow of blood from a gash on his forehead, but wasn't very successful with only the one hand to work with.

He looked up as Castiel and Sam crowded into the doorway of the bathroom. "Dammit, Sammy! What did I say?"

"I don't care, Dean! You need to let him heal you," Sam retorted, scowling fiercely.

Without waiting for permission, Castiel gripped Dean's face firmly and healed the cut, the dislocated shoulder, and all the imminent bruising and swelling.

Dean jerked away, snapping, "I'm fine! Leave it!" He realized it was too late, though, and rolled his shoulder cautiously. He glared at Sam, then Castiel. "I didn't need your help! Leave me alone!"

Pushing past both of them, Dean disappeared into his room, slamming the sliding door as hard as he could, then closing it again after it bounced back open.

Castiel stood, stunned. He looked to Sam, who was red-faced and furious. Sam whipped around and stormed out the trailer's back door, closing it with a much more effective slam than Dean's.

Since Sam had been the one to come to him, that's who Castiel followed. He closed the door softly behind him and sat beside the boy on the back step. The cool evening air made him shiver, so he drew his wings in, fluffing the feathers to keep himself warm.

"Sam? What was that?"

Sam wiped angrily at the tears spilling down his cheeks. "Dean's a jerk."

"But what happened? I felt..." Castiel shook his head. "What happened?"

"Dad happened. Just like always," Sam answered. "Dad noticed someone had been in his stuff and found his knife missing. He yelled at Dean, shoved him around. Just like always."

Hot sickness rose in Castiel's stomach as his hand drifted to the knife strapped to the belt that Dean had also given him. Dean was hurt _again_ because he was protecting Castiel.

"He told me not to get you. He didn't want to get healed – said he had it coming. Said he took the knife, so he should take the punishment." Fresh tears spilled over and Sam's face crumpled as a sob pushed its way out.

Castiel didn't know what to do, but had to do _something_. He opened his wing enough to put an arm around Sam and draw him close to his side, letting his wing wrap around him like a blanket.

It was either the right thing to do or a very wrong thing. Sam turned his face into Castiel's shoulder and sobbed. His arms snaked under Castiel's feathers to lock around his ribs as messy tears and other secretions smeared from Sam's face to Castiel's skin. He cried out what Castiel guessed was years of pain until the heaving sobs slowly settled down into jerky sniffles.

"Oh, crap," Sam said thickly as he eased himself out of Castiel's embrace and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'm sorry – I got snot all over you."

Castiel let Sam pull away, but left his wing hovering around him protectively. "It's all right. I'm washable."

A short burst of laughter left Sam smiling, even if it was a little soggy around the edges.

"Sam? Should I go talk to Dean?"

After a thoughtful pause, Sam shook his head. "Not now. He'll cool off. It's better to leave it until tomorrow."

Castiel sighed. "If you think that's best."

As they sat in the darkness, the horrible feeling in Castiel's stomach got worse. What if Dean stayed angry? He had every right to be mad, since he was only hurt because of Castiel, and Castiel feared Dean would stop wanting him around because of it.

Eventually Sam went inside, and Castiel returned to the shed alone, but couldn't read or sleep or do anything but worry about Dean.

What if Dean never wanted to see him again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIHM is by Robert C. O'Brien**


	20. Chapter 20

**March 26, 1992**

After he was sure Sam had come back inside and shut himself into his room, Dean went to the bathroom to finish cleaning up. He stripped off his T-shirt and glared at it for a second before balling it up and throwing it against the door as hard as he could. It hit with an unsatisfactory whump and fell to the ground. He was going to have to throw it out. There was too much blood.

Looking into the mirror, his anger fizzled. The blood had dried on his face and in his hair, and he looked like some stupid horror movie casualty. Head wounds always bled so much. He touched his forehead. Running a washcloth under the faucet, he wiped the blood away from the place where the cut had been. The skin was perfect. No sign of it at all. No redness, no mark, no scar. No pain.

Dean wiped roughly at the rest of his face and neck with the cloth, scrubbing away the flaking blood, and if he mopped up a few tears, too, then so what?

After the last of the blood was washed away, he scooped up the ruined shirt and took it to the kitchen to bury in the trash before shutting himself up in his room. He found a cleanish shirt and put it on, then curled up on his bed, staring at the wood paneled wall and counting the lines in the grain to keep from thinking.

At least an hour later, he realized there were still dishes to be done from dinner. He rolled off the bed and trudged down to the kitchen. Washing the dishes became an exercise in meditation. Soap, scrub, rinse, dry, repeat. He was just finishing the last pot when the front door opened and his father stepped in. Dean had been so focused on his task he hadn't even heard the car.

Dad dropped his leather jacket over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and went to the fridge. He pulled out a beer and popped the top.

"Those dishes should've been done hours ago," he said. His words weren't slurred, so he wasn't terribly drunk, but he was louder than he needed to be, which meant he wasn't sober, either.

"Yes, sir. I'm just finishing," Dean answered, keeping his head down. Eye contact at times like this was only ever taken as 'attitude'.

He finished rinsing the pot and dried it on the towel that was too damp by now to dry much of anything. But when he reached up to put it away in the cupboard, he realized his mistake.

Dad thunked his beer down on the counter and yanked Dean around by the upper arm. The same arm he'd dislocated earlier. His dad looked him up and down with narrowed eyes until he focused on Dean's downturned face. He gripped Dean's jaw, forcing him to look up.

"What the hell?" he muttered, but he wasn't talking to Dean.

Realization burst over his dad's features as he put two and two together to get five. He twisted both fists into the front of Dean's shirt and swung him around to slam him against the wall hard enough to shake the trailer. The beer was sour on his breath as he shouted in Dean's face.

"How did you do it? That son of a bitch shouldn't be able to come within a hundred fucking miles of you. How did he heal you?"

"Dad, no, I swear-" He cut off with a grunt as his dad slammed him up against the wall again. Dean spluttered as the fists at his throat pressed tighter. He clawed and pushed, but he couldn't budge them. Fear choked him almost as much as the fists.

"Bullshit! You figured out some way to get around it, didn't you? You ungrateful little turd. Can't ever listen. Can't ever do as you're told. Now where the hell is Gabriel?" Red faced, his father shook in his rage and snarled through clenched teeth, "I'll find him, and I'll kill him. And then I'm gonna beat your ass until you damn well learn to do as you're told!"

"Stop it!" Sammy shrieked as he ran into the room. "Leave him alone!"

"Go back to your room, Sam." Dad never looked away from Dean's face as he warned Sam off.

Suddenly, a pair of skinny arms latched around one of Dad's and yanked.

"I'm not gonna tell you again, boy!"

Sam pulled again ineffectively at his father's iron grip on his brother, then pounded on his shoulder with one small fist. "Dad, stop! You're hurting him!"

"I said, _go to your room!_ " Dad bellowed, and quick as a thought, he lashed out and backhanded Sammy across the face.

Time ground to a stop in the seconds afterward. Dean gaped at his baby brother, now sprawled on the kitchen floor with blood on his mouth, looking as shocked as Dean felt. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Dad never hit Sammy. _Never_. Dean made sure of it. He looked away from Sam to his dad.

Dad was frozen, too, eyes going back and forth between his son on the floor and the hand he'd struck him with. His face blanched, and he released Dean, dropping him as if he'd been burned and stumbling back a step with horror written across his face. "Fuck," he rasped.

Dean rushed to Sammy's side, pulling him in close and holding him tight, keeping his body between Sam and his father. Tears leaked down Sam's cheeks, and he trembled as he clutched at Dean's shirt, but he didn't make any noise at all. Dean turned Sam's face to examine the damage. His lip was already beginning to swell.

"Fuck," his dad breathed again. He looked around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time in his life. He turned back to meet Dean's glare, and for an instant, he almost looked ashamed.

But then Dad's face went hard again, and he snapped. "Pack your shit. You've got ten minutes. We're leaving."

"What?" It jumped out of Dean's mouth before he could catch it.

"I said we're leaving. If angels can get to you here, this place ain't safe. We're getting out." Dad leveled a warning finger his way. "Don't even think about giving me lip, boy. Move it! Now!"

Dean and Sam scrambled to their feet and raced to their rooms. Dad wasn't kidding. Whatever they didn't have with them in ten minutes would be left behind. Dean yanked his duffel bag from the closet. It already held most of the things he cared about, including the last two remaining pictures of his mom. He threw whatever clothes he could find into the bag – shirts, jeans, socks, underwear – and grabbed his pocketknife, his Walkman, and his travel first aid kit.

He lurched to a stop, staring at the first aid kit in his hands.

Castiel.

They were leaving, and Dean couldn't even say goodbye to Castiel. He couldn't apologize for yelling at him earlier. Couldn't thank him for healing him even when he was being a bitch about it. Couldn't tell him that they didn't want to leave him behind. Didn't mean to. And couldn't tell him that he would miss him. His fingers tightened around the plastic kit.

"Dean!" Dad's bellow reached his ears from outside, and he jumped back into motion, hauling his duffel over his shoulder by the strap.

He hesitated for just a second, then put the first aid kit in the middle of his bed. Hopefully Castiel would find the kit after they were gone and understand that it was the best he could do in the way of an apology.

Running out of the house, he threw his bag in the trunk with the others and clambered into the back seat next to Sam. Dad started the car with a roar, and spun out as he took off toward the main road. Dean turned on the seat, climbing to his knees to stare out the back window for a last, desperate look.

As they bounced down the long driveway, he could see the shed faintly illuminated by the outside security lights. The door was open wide, and he could see Castiel jogging across the yard toward them. Dean reached out to catch his brother's hand as much for his own comfort as Sammy's. Sam clutched him back tightly.

When they finally turned onto the highway, he could still make out Castiel, a solitary figure in the grass, watching them drive away.


	21. Chapter 21

**January 24, 1995**

Dean woke with a shock when something heavy landed next to him and turned his bed into an earthquake.  Totally disoriented, he bolted upright, looking around wildly.

"Happy birthday, Dean!" Sam shouted right in his face, then returned to laughing and jumping on the bed like the little jerk he was.

"Jeez, Sammy! You trying to give me a heart attack?" Dean demanded once he figured out what the hell was happening.

"Nope, but I am trying to make you get your lazy butt out of bed for your birthday breakfast!" The little runt jumped off the bed and bolted down the hallway, shouting back to him, "Hurry up!"

"I hate you!" Dean shouted back before flopping down onto his pillow and pulling the covers up over his head.

"Up and at 'em, son. Don't want your food getting cold," Dad's voice came from the doorway.

" _Fine_ ," Dean groaned. Why did everyone else have to be morning people?

Dean dragged himself out of bed and shuffled down the hall to the kitchen, squinting into the bright light. When he was able to open his eyes properly, he blinked in surprise. There was a glittery pink banner strung from the ceiling that said "Happy Sweet Sixteen!"

"You gotta be kidding me," Dean whined.

Sam laughed like a lunatic and punched Dean in the arm. "Happy birthday! The decorations are from me!"

"Sit, Dean. Breakfast is ready," his dad said as he carried a skillet to the table and divided up the scrambled eggs onto three plates already mostly full with pancakes and bacon.

"You cooked?" Dean was stunned. Dad hardly ever cooked anything, and _never_ made breakfast.

Dad stopped on his way to the sink and bumped Dean's shoulder with his own. "Hey. This is me trying to make up for all the crappy birthdays from before."

Dean dropped his eyes, so no one would see them glassy with tears. It had been a hard few years ever since the night Dad had dragged them away from the angel-warded trailer house. The night he'd hit Sammy. Things were way better now, but even though his dad had been sober for going on three years, it was hard for Dean to hear him talking like that.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Hurry up and sit, Dean. I'm hungry!" Sam urged. "We're gonna be late for school if you don't hurry."

"Oh, tragedy," Dean drawled, but he did sit down.

"Hold up – one more thing..." Dad said as he leaned over Dean's shoulder to stick a skinny pink birthday candle into his pancakes.

"It's a birthday _pan_ cake," Sam pointed out. "Get it? Like a birthday cake?"

"Yeah, I get it, Sammy," Dean assured him, smiling and shaking his head at his goofball brother.

As Dad lit the wick with his Zippo, Sam bellowed rather than sang the birthday song. He finished with a flourish. "And many morrre, on channel fourrrr! And Scooby-Dooooo on channel twooooooo! Make a wish, Dean!"

Two things immediately flashed through Dean's mind, the one thing nearly as impossible as the other. No matter how hard he wished, he couldn't have his mom or Gabriel back.

But maybe wishes were like prayers. If he wished to see Castiel again, would his friend hear it?

He made his wish, then opened his eyes and blew out the candle, but not before it had dribbled wax onto his pancakes.

They devoured their breakfast in record time, and as they were clearing the table, Dad said, "Go get yourselves dressed for school. You can have your present before we leave."

"There's a present, too?" Dean asked. All this fuss was kind of overwhelming.

"Go, Dean!" Sam insisted. "You're wasting time!"

"I'm going, I'm going."

When they were finally dressed with their school bags packed, Dad handed Dean a small wrapped box. Sam was practically dancing as he watched. Dean didn't know what he was so excited about. It wasn't like it was _his_ birthday.

Dean pulled the ribbon from the box and tore off the paper. When he got the box itself open, he stared dumbly at the contents, not completely sure he understood what he was looking at.

"A key?" He looked up to his dad who was grinning at him expectantly.

He looked back down to the box. He knew this key. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he looked to his dad one more time for confirmation. Dad nodded, and Sam whooped in his excitement for him.

"Are you serious? Are you _serious?_ She's mine? For real?"

"Yes, for real. The Impala's all yours now." Dad smiled down at him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know you'll take good care of her."

Tears filled Dean's eyes and his throat clogged up. It was embarrassing, but he couldn't help it. That his dad would trust him enough to give him the car he loved so much was kind of too much. He stepped forward and threw his arms around his dad.

"Thank you!" he said, voice muffled in Dad's overshirt.

Dad's arms came around him for the first hug he could remember getting in... well, forever. "You're welcome, Dean."

"And here's a present from me, too," Sam said. "I had to wait until after you got Dad's."

He handed Dean a floppy bundle done up with crumpled paper. Dean tore it open to find a package of chamois cloths.

He grinned at his little brother. "A shammy from Sammy. Thanks, dude." And in proper big brother fashion, after a quick hug, he socked Sam in the arm, maybe a little harder than he really needed to.

"Come on, boys. Pile into the pickup, and I'll drop you off at school. I took a half day today, so I'll pick you both up in the Impala right after school, and we can stop by the DMV. Once you've got your shiny new license in hand, Dean, you can drive us all home." Dad pulled both boys' coats from the hooks by the door and tossed them over.

Dean put on his coat and slung his school bag over one shoulder as he followed Sammy out the door with a smile. "Thanks, Dad. Best birthday ever."


	22. Chapter 22

**June 3, 1995**

Dean's dad pulled his head out from under the Impala's hood and gave Dean a lopsided smile. "Looks like we're about finished here – how about you go on in and rustle us up some sandwiches while I clean up this mess?"

"Sure," Dean answered, wiping the worst of the grease from his hands on a shop towel.

They had just spent the whole afternoon in the garage tuning up the car, with Dean doing the hands-on work. The only thing his dad had needed to walk him through was gapping the spark plugs since Dean hadn't done it before. His Baby gleamed like she was brand new, and he puffed up in pride. Tonight he'd be taking Robin Custer out on their first date, and he wanted her to be impressed.

"Hey, Dean," Dad called out just as Dean was stepping out the door. "You did good, kid. That car's a classic. I expect she'll still be running like a dream in another twenty-eight years."

Flushing happily, Dean replied, "Yes, sir!"

With a huge grin on his face, he left the garage and crossed the parking pad to the side door of the house. Stepping into the kitchen, Dean kicked off his shoes to avoid tracking oil all over the floor, then scrubbed his hands with the orange pumice soap they kept under the sink. Rummaging in the fridge, Dean dug up some bologna and cheese slices. There wouldn't be enough for Sam when he got back from the library, but he could eat peanut butter.

He was slathering mustard onto some bread and singing "Born to be Wild" at the top of his lungs when a massive crash sounded from outside. For an instant he froze, trying to figure out what made the noise. Then more crashes came, followed by voices shouting, but the ear-splitting scream was what drove him to move.

Dropping everything, Dean burst out of the house and ran across the pad to the garage in his sock feet. He flung open the door, shouting, "DAD!"

Red.

Red everywhere.

_Red._

Everything in front of him swam unsteadily as his brain tried to process anything beyond _red_.

Two sets of yellow eyes turned toward him at his cry. Two feral grins. Two sets of hands, covered in red to the elbows, holding long, narrow knives. And two pairs of black, black wings stretching wide over what was left of his father's body.

The demons exploded into motion, charging toward him with unearthly shrieks, and Dean couldn't move, even though he knew he was about to die.

But instead of knives from the front, Dean felt a crushing force strike him from the side, and the wind was knocked from him in a whoosh as he hit the ground hard and skidded through the dirt.

Gasping, he scrambled to his feet, but immediately tripped over a sagebrush and fell again onto the dusty gray ground.

"Dean!"

A winged figure rushed toward him, and hands grabbed at his arms as he tried to fight the demon attacking him.

"Dean, stop!"

Castiel?

Dean stopped fighting and looked up, stunned to see Castiel staring back, wide-eyed and pale. Castiel, who'd been gone for over three whole years.

"Dean, are you hurt? Did they hurt you?"

Looking around wildly, Dean realized they were outdoors in a wide, barren landscape he'd definitely never seen before. There was nothing but blue sky, sagebrush, and the occasional juniper stretching out in all directions. Castiel must have flown him away.

Away from the demons. Away from Dad.

Dean shoved himself to his feet in his surge of panic. "We have to go back!"

"No, Dean."

He grabbed Castiel roughly and insisted, "We _have_ to go back! Right now!"

Castiel shook his head slowly. "We can't. In a few minutes the demons will be gone, pulled back to the ether. If we go back before that, they'll kill us both."

"Dammit, Cas, we have to help my dad!" His fingers dug in hard as he shook Castiel by the shoulders.

Unfazed by the abuse, Castiel stared at Dean, waiting until he met his eyes, then spoke softly but with finality. "Your father is dead."

Dean shoved, pushing Castiel and his stupid opinions away. "No, he isn't! You don't know that!"

"I do. I can feel it. His life energy was gone – consumed. The artery in his neck was severed, but he was gone even before he bled out."

Backing away, Dean put his hands over his ears. "No, no, no, NO! I could have done something. I could have helped him!"

Hot tears blurred his vision and he turned to run, but stumbled over a sagebrush root, falling again to his hands and knees in the dirt. A sob ripped its way from his guts and the tears burning the backs of his eyes finally spilled over, dripping uselessly in the dust, and once they'd started, they didn't stop. He pressed his forehead into the dirt, sobbing helplessly into the sharp pebbles and cheat grass.

"Dean." Castiel's voice was close. He'd knelt in the dirt beside him.

Dean raised his head, tears still streaming down his face. "Cas, it's my _dad._ "

Castiel looked away. "If there were any chance of saving your father, I would have gone back for him alone. I'm sorry, Dean. I won't let you be hurt. I can't."

"Cas..." Dean's anger deflated, and the shock and loss rose up to suffocate him. He started shaking, so he wrapped his arms tightly around himself.

Quietly, Castiel inched closer until Dean was leaning into him. The great, black wings encircled them both, creating a dark, comforting cocoon around them. Dean turned to rest his gritty forehead against Castiel's shoulder as more tears fell. Nothing felt real. It couldn't be real.

Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe this was all a dream, and he'd wake up soon.

But after a while, Castiel's wings opened a fraction, letting in a little light and shattering the hope that it was all just a nightmare. "Dean? It should be safe to go back now."

Dean squinted and blinked into the light, but nodded slightly into Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel drew back his wings and stood, holding out a hand to help Dean to his feet. He waited until Dean nodded his readiness, then gripped his upper arm, spread his wings, and flew. To Dean, it felt like his insides were yanked home before the rest of him, with everything squishing back together again as they landed.

He stood rooted to the spot Castiel had originally taken him from. The demons were gone, but the rest of it hadn't changed.

_red_

His dad's body was sprawled near the Impala.

_red_

Blood pooled thickly around the body and was splattered liberally around the garage – on the car, up the walls, even on the fluorescent lights suspended from the ceiling. How much blood could one body possibly hold?

_red_

His dad's guts were pulled from a gaping wound in his belly and scattered around like the tools and car parts that had been knocked from the shelves in the scuffle.

_RED_

Dean turned and lurched out the garage door, falling painfully to his knees and throwing up on the cement of the parking pad. He puked until bile burned his throat and the back of his nose. As he choked and coughed, gagging the last of it up, Castiel brought him a reasonably clean rag that he used to wipe his face of the vomit, snot, and tears.

Crawling back away from the mess, Dean huddled against the outside wall of the garage, wrapping his arms tightly around his drawn up knees. He buried his face in his arms. Castiel crouched down beside him.

"What am I supposed to do, Cas? I don't know what to do." His voice was muffled, but he didn't expect any answers anyway.

Castiel remained quietly by his side for a long time.

When Dean finally raised his head, his thoughts were spinning. "I need to call someone. Who comes for this kind of thing? Ambulance? Police? There's nothing any of them can do." A horrible thought struck, and he was ashamed it hadn't occurred to him earlier. "Oh, shit. Sammy!"

He turned to Castiel in desperation. "Cas, what am I supposed to tell Sam? He can't come home and see all this. What am I gonna do? Where'll we go?"

"Dean." Castiel's voice was a balm to his ragged emotions. "I can find Sam. You call whoever needs to help you, and I'll bring Sam home. I'll make sure he doesn't see what happened."

Castiel stood up and Dean snatched his wrist. "Wait! I- Cas, I don't want you to go. I don't want to be here alone." The thought of being left alone with his father's body made him feel like puking again.

A faraway look settled over Cas's face as his eyes drifted half-closed. He murmured, "Sam is still downtown." Blinking, he focused back on Dean. "Make your call. I'll wait with you until someone comes before I go get Sam."

"But there'll be people here, all over the place. You can't let them see you!"

Castiel reached over to pluck a couple of cheat grass seeds from Dean's hair and brush the grit from his forehead. The gentle touch was soothing. "Trust me, Dean. I know how to stay hidden. I'll stay with you, I'll get Sam, and if you want, I'll come back after everyone leaves. I won't leave you alone."

Dean nodded. "Okay," he breathed. "Okay." He could get through this. With Castiel's help, he could get through this.


	23. Chapter 23

**June 3, 1995**

Castiel stood and offered a hand to Dean, helping him to his feet. He guided the dazed human toward the kitchen door, steering him clear of the vomit on the cement. Once inside the house, Dean found his way to the phone on the wall of the kitchen and made his call to 911.

While Dean was occupied, Castiel took a slow, deep breath. From the instant he'd first felt Dean's shock and horror, Castiel had been struggling to distance himself from it. Dean's emotions were so strong, so _raw_ , and they surged relentlessly against him, buffeting him like a rowboat in a hurricane. He bit down on the side of his tongue, letting the pain of it distract him from the morass of feelings trying to drown him.

Dean hung up the phone. "They're on the way."

He stared at the phone on the wall silently for a minute, then picked it up again, flipping open a small, ringed book on the counter below it and sifting through the pages. "I need to call Uncle Bobby."

Castiel chewed on his tongue and listened to Dean as he told the person on the other end of the line what had happened. Other than a catch in his voice, he sounded calm and under control, and Castiel had to wonder how he managed it when there was so much turmoil inside.

But when Dean put the phone down again, the facade began to crack. His face contorted with the effort he was making to keep it all in, but it wasn't enough. His shoulders slumped and tears slipped down his cheeks as he leaned back against the kitchen wall and slid down to land on his butt.

"Bobby's coming," he said as he wiped his face on his sleeve.

Castiel knelt in front of him. "That's good, Dean." He didn't know who Bobby was, but he was clearly someone Dean needed.

The stormy emotions radiating from Dean calmed somewhat the longer they sat in silence. Pain and grief still swamped Castiel, but without the turbulence.

The faint sound of sirens came from down the street. Dean turned his head toward the sound, though there was nothing to see from inside the house. A pulse of intense emotion struck Castiel as Dean said calmly, "You should go."

Before Castiel could wonder about the feeling, it was gone. "Yes. I'll bring Sam."

Dean turned his puffy, red eyes to Castiel then. "You'll come back after everyone's gone?"

"If you want me to."

Dean nodded, but then he blurted out, "Cas, why'd you leave us for so long?"

The question caught Castiel off guard. When he didn't answer right away, Dean shook his head.

"Never mind, Cas. Please get Sam?" The sirens were close now.

Castiel flew, instinctively honing in on Sam. The younger Winchester sat at a bus stop in front of the Lebanon Public Library with his nose in a book, waiting for what should have been his ride home.

Castiel lit in an alley as close as he could get without being seen by nearby drivers or pedestrians. He peered between a stack of empty pallets and a dumpster and waited for the street to clear before stepping out and hissing, "Sam!"

Sam's head popped up from the book he was reading. He looked around, searching for the source of the call, and when he saw Castiel, his mouth dropped open in surprise. Stuffing his book in his bag and quickly glancing around, Sam trotted across the street and into the alley.

"Castiel!" Sam kept his voice soft, though he was clearly pleased. "It's so good to see you! It's been so long – what're you doing here?"

Despite the distance between them, Dean's stormy feelings still pushed at Castiel, almost overpowering the delight he felt from Sam.

"Something has happened. Dean asked me to bring you home."

Instantly, worry and fear replaced Sam's happiness. "What happened? Is Dean okay?"

"He wasn't hurt. He'll be all right."

"Then what? What is it? Castiel, what happened?" Sam's volume increased as his fear intensified.

Castiel put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Let me take you to Dean."

Sam pulled back, yanking free of Castiel's grip. "Not until you tell me what happened!" His face went pale. "It's Dad, isn't it? Did something happen to Dad?"

He didn't want to have to tell Sam, but Castiel couldn't lie to him, either. He nodded slightly.

"Is he dead?" Sam's voice had dropped to a hollow whisper.

Sam must have read the answer in Castiel's face, because tears filled his eyes. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, sending the tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please take me home."

Castiel returned his hand to the boy's shoulder, and this time he didn't pull away. He spread his wings and flew, landing them as gently as he could, though Sam still staggered a bit on the landing, looking pale and shaky. They ended up in a sheltered gap between a wooden fence and a hedge two houses down the country road from where Dean and Sam lived. There were still vehicles parked at the house, and two men were taking their time loading a gurney into the medical examiner's van.

"This is as close as I can take you without being seen," he told Sam.

Sam nodded, staring at the men by the van and their burden on the gurney. Hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder, he whispered, "Thank you," then ran down the road toward his home.

Castiel watched him go, shaking in the aftermath of the double dose of second-hand grief.

He decided to stay where he was, hidden from view but able to watch for the vehicles to leave. He sat cross-legged in the dirt, and though it was warm out, he wrapped his wings tightly around himself. His dark feathers camouflaged him more thoroughly in his hiding place, but they couldn't protect him from the emotions battering at him.

At least another hour passed before the last of the emergency vehicles drove away. Once they were far down the road, Castiel stood and dusted himself off before flying to the back door of Dean and Sam's house. He peeked in a couple of windows to be certain they were alone before flitting into the small living room where the boys were huddled together on the couch, Sam's body wrapped into a tight ball while Dean rubbed circles on his brother's back.

"Cas," Dean said. He looked worse than when Castiel had left him earlier, his face drawn and strained. "You came back."

"I stayed close," Castiel replied. "I waited until everyone was gone."

The corner of Dean's mouth twisted in a failed smile.

Sam suddenly sat bolt upright. "Dean, how come they left? Shouldn't someone have stayed? Or...did somebody call child services?" He spoke the last as if it were something terrible to be feared.

"Um, I might have told them I was seventeen," Dean replied reluctantly. "And that Uncle Bobby was on his way over, which is true – I just didn't mention he's coming from South Dakota. Or that he's not really our uncle. He said he'd get here some time tonight."

Sam sighed and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. "Good."

Castiel perched himself on the opposite arm of the couch from where Dean sat with Sam. The atmosphere was tense and uncomfortable, but Castiel didn't know how to relieve it, or if that were even possible. The afternoon seemed to last forever, but it had finally waned toward evening when the harsh ring of the telephone broke the silence.

Castiel startled at the noise, but Dean just got up from the couch and went to answer it.

"Hello?" As he listened to the caller, dismay crossed Dean's face. "Oh, crap, Robin, I'm sorry. I- I can't go out tonight. There's a, uh, family emergency. No, no, I'm fine. Yeah, there's people here." He glanced up at Castiel over the countertop that separated the two rooms. "Some other time. Yeah, sorry. Bye."

He hung up and stared at the phone for a second. Then he turned and, with crisp movements, began putting away several items that had been left on the kitchen counter and scattered across the floor. He threw away a lot of it, put the rest in the sink and the refrigerator, then worked on wiping up something yellow from the linoleum, scrubbing at it much harder than necessary.

After that, he emptied a can of something into a bowl and heated it in the microwave. After the beep, he delivered it to the coffee table in front of Sam. "Eat, Sammy."

Sam had been watching Dean's busywork worriedly, much as Castiel had been doing. He frowned down at the bowl. "I'm not hungry."

Dean picked up the spoon and thrust it in front of Sam's face. "You didn't have lunch, and you like SpaghettiOs. Eat at least a little."

Reluctantly, Sam took the spoon and scooted forward on the couch, unfolding his legs and leaning over the bowl. He ate a few bites, but mostly he just stirred the contents with the spoon. Castiel could feel how close Sam was to crying, and how badly he didn't want to let either Dean or Castiel know it.

After about ten minutes of Sam playing with his food, Dean sighed. "Fine, Sam. You don't have to eat it if you don't want it."

Sam immediately left the living room, running up the stairs. His relief must have been obvious even to Dean.

Sitting in the spot Sam had vacated, Dean stirred the spoon through the glop in the bowl, but couldn't seem to make himself eat any of it, either. He picked up the bowl and took it to the kitchen, disposing of the contents and rinsing it out.

Then he stopped, his back to Castiel, and stared out the kitchen window toward the garage where his father's blood still soaked into the concrete.

"I guess I didn't say thank you yet for saving my life," he said softly.

Dean turned around, leaning back against the counter, his eyes boring into Castiel. The emotions he broadcast were less intense now, but far more complex. The thread of anger underlying the more dominant feelings made Castiel pause, though.

Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Thank you. I mean it. I know I'd be dead, too, if you hadn't come."

Castiel frowned uncertainly. "You're welcome."

"But it's been three _years_ , Cas!" Dean's face grew pinched. "Where have you been? Broken bones and demon attacks aren't the only reasons to show up, you know!" He stopped abruptly, then snatched up a sponge and scrubbed at the interior of the sink.

As the anger grew stronger, Castiel realized it wasn't really anger at all. It was pain.

"Dean..." He struggled to find words. "You and Sam helped me when I needed it the most, and all you ever got for your trouble was injury. In the brief time I was with you, you were hurt multiple times – each time because of me."

Dean's movements slowed, but he didn't turn back around.

"When you and your family left that night, I didn't know why. I could have followed you, but... I wasn't sure you would want me to. You were so angry after I healed you."

"I wasn't mad at you," Dean mumbled. "I didn't mean for you to stay away."

The hurt and loneliness that had plagued Castiel after the Winchesters had left him at the trailer house were echoed in what he felt from Dean.

Hesitantly, Castiel confessed, "That week with you and Sam meant so much to me. Before you took me in, I had never known anything but a life of solitude. And afterward, I found I didn't _want_ to be alone anymore. But I couldn't see you hurt again because of me, so I thought it better to stay away."

Dean blinked at him, his eyes shining wet. "Well, it's _not_ better. I... We – me and Sam, I mean – we've missed you. A lot."

"I missed you, too." Castiel paused, then looked away uncomfortably. "Dean. I'm so sorry I couldn't save your father."

"It wasn't your fault." Dean's voice was tight in his throat.

"I've never been able to sense him as clearly as I can you and Sam. If I had, maybe I would have been able to..."

"Cas," Dean interrupted. "It wasn't your fault."

Castiel fell silent and eventually nodded his acceptance.

Dean turned back to the sink and rinsed out the sponge he'd been using. After drying his hands on the towel hanging from the door handle of the refrigerator, he went back to the living room with Castiel trailing behind him. They sat on the couch, and Dean clicked on the television, though he left the sound turned down low as he flipped through channels.

Castiel watched him and absently preened the feathers of one wing. As before, Dean masked his turbulent emotions remarkably well, but the pain and grief beneath the surface were suffocating.

After Castiel had finished with one wing and moved on to the other, Dean spoke without looking away from the television. "I'm sorry if I made you think I didn't want you around. I didn't mean to. And I didn't want to leave that night. He made us go."

"I know, Dean."

Another hour or so later, the sound of an engine drew their attention. As the vehicle pulled into the driveway, the beam of its headlights swung across the window, briefly brightening the room beyond the twilight dimness and the flickering light of the TV.

With a cough and a sputter, the engine shut down, and Dean turned to Castiel. "That's Bobby. You have to go." He reached out to catch his wrist. "But Cas, please don't stay away this time, okay?"

Castiel nodded. "Okay." And as a knock sounded from the front door, he took wing and flew to safety.


	24. Chapter 24

**June 4, 1995**

Dean woke to the puzzling smell of bacon frying.

He blinked blearily, then shot upright as the memories of the previous day came back with a shock.

Demons had killed his father.

Today would be the first whole day without his dad. Every day when Dean woke up from now until forever, his father would be dead. He felt oddly detached from the idea. He even muttered the words aloud to see if it made them feel more real.

Dad was dead.

He and Sam were orphans now. The melody of "It's a Hard Knock Life" threaded mockingly through his mind. He made a face. How did he even know that song?

Shaking off the unpleasant thoughts, he got out of bed and shuffled downstairs to find Sam and Bobby already in the kitchen. The bacon smell was Bobby's doing, though Dean was sure they hadn't had any in the house. Sam sat with his elbows on the table and his chin propped on his hands. The lost look on his face made him seem even younger than he was.

It made Dean's stomach twist. His only job in the world was to take care of Sam, and there wasn't a single thing he could do to make any of this better.

Bobby looked up from his efforts at the stove. "Have a seat. Food'll be up in a few."

"Thanks, Bobby, but I'm not really hungry," Dean answered, though he did sit in the chair next to Sam.

"Well, tough, boy. Only one rule today – when I put food in front of you, you eat. Got it?"

Bobby glowered over at him until Dean nodded. In an odd way, it made him feel a little better seeing Bobby act his usual grumpy self. He hated the way the police and paramedics had looked at him yesterday with pity in their eyes. How they'd talked to him in hushed voices like he'd break if they handled him too roughly.

When Bobby slid a plate of eggs and bacon under his nose a few minutes later, Dean picked at it obediently, managing to finish a little more than half. Apparently that was good enough, because Bobby didn't stop him when he left the table to head back upstairs.

Dean spent the rest of the day in a numb sort of haze, growing more grateful every hour for Bobby's presence as he handled arrangements and phone calls and visitors at the door bringing tuna casseroles. Dean wondered who all these people were. Co-workers from the garage? Neighbors? It wasn't like Dad had a flourishing social network of friends. Maybe it was just morbid looky-loos rubbernecking the latest area demon attack. Creeps.

That afternoon, the cleaners came. Dean watched from his bedroom window as the workers in full-body protective suits went back and forth between their van and the garage. It was odd to think that they were out there cleaning up part of a person.

_Red_.

Dean flinched and turned from the window, going downstairs to avoid thinking about the cleaners and what they were doing. Sam was on the living room couch, intensely focused on some book. Bobby was just getting off the phone with someone from the funeral home.

"Thank you. We'll be in touch," Bobby said, just before hanging up. He caught Dean's eye and beckoned him with a tip of his head. "Can I talk to you boys for a minute?"

The three of them settled around the kitchen table, and Dean felt a twinge of nerves which was the first thing he'd actually felt all day. It didn't help that Bobby looked as uncomfortable as Dean had ever seen him, adjusting his ball cap and rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

"So, I was thinking..." he trailed off, but then blurted out, "What do you boys think about coming up to Sioux Falls to live with me?"

Dean blinked at Bobby in surprise, wondering if he'd heard him right.

"Now, I know you have friends here, and my place ain't exactly the fanciest digs, but you'll need to live somewhere. You boys ain't had the easiest time of things, I know, and I wish I'd been able to do more for you before this. But if I can help you out now, well, then I will. If you want, that is," Bobby finished uncertainly.

"Really?" Sam asked. The kid had his puppy eyes on full blast, and it looked like not even Bobby was immune. "You'd do that?"

"'Course, Sam," Bobby mumbled. "Family's more than blood."

After an awkward moment, he slapped his hands down on his knees and stood. "Well, you boys think on it a day or two, and let me know what you decide. Meantime, lets eat up some of that damn casserole before it all goes bad."

All through dinner, Dean still hadn't said a word – he just chewed his food thoughtfully. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to happen once the funeral and everything were over with, but Bobby's offer to take them in surprised him. Sure, they'd known him their whole lives, and Dean considered him family, but this was a huge deal.

Bobby'd never had kids of his own. He'd had a wife, but she'd died before Dean was even born, and he'd never remarried. The Winchesters had stayed with him off and on over the years when Dad was between jobs or on another paranoid search for someplace angel-proof to move to. When Dean really thought about it, Bobby had been a better father to him and Sam than their dad ever had. Guilt stabbed at him for even thinking it, but he knew it was true.

He met Sam's eyes across the table and raised his eyebrows in question. Sam frowned, but when Dean tipped his head Bobby's way, Sam nodded in understanding before nodding again in answer to the question.

"Um, Bobby?" Dean cleared his throat. "I don't think me and Sam need a couple days to think about it. Sioux Falls sounds good to us."

Bobby looked to Sam who agreed readily. Then he nodded once and said, "Okay, then," before digging back into his casserole.

They didn't discuss it any more than that, but Dean didn't need details. A tiny bit of the pressure on his chest lifted just knowing that he didn't have to worry about what would happen to him and Sam going forward. They would be okay.


	25. Chapter 25

**June 4-5, 1995**

_His father's clawed fingers dug into Dean's throat as he held him down. The long, silver knife gleamed and reflected in the dark pools of Dad's eyes._

" _Where is he?" Dad hissed in his face. "Where's the angel?"_

_Dean struggled, but his arms refused to move like they should, as if he were encased in wet cement. "No, Dad, please!" he gasped out past the grip crushing his throat._

" _Angels get you killed! Now you'll see. Now you'll understand," Dad whispered into his ear, before pulling back and raising the knife. The movement slowed and stretched, and when the knife was at its highest, a set of black wings unfurled from his father's back, spreading wide. Wider than he could see. The feathers surrounded him, choked him._

_Dad brought the knife down, plunging it into his own stomach and slicing upward. Guts spilled onto Dean in a slippery mass and blood poured everywhere, painting everything red._

_Red._

_Red everywhere. Covering Dean. Covering Dad. The great wings turned red instead of black. The red filled his eyes until there was nothing else._

" _What did I tell you, son? I told you!" Dad's voice was in his ear, audible over his own screams, as he continued cutting into himself with the silver blade over and over and over again._

"No!" Dean bolted upright in bed, panting and shaking as he dragged himself out of the nightmare.

"Dean?" A whisper from his left.

For an instant, still in the grip of the dream, Dean panicked at the dark shape by the bed with its shadowed wings. Then the shape resolved itself into Castiel, not a demon.

He'd been dreaming.

"Are you all right?" Cas asked softly.

"Cas?" Dean took a deep, quaking breath. His skin still tingled with residual fear, but it was receding as he woke fully. "Yeah. Nightmare."

Creaking footsteps approached Dean's room and Cas slipped into the shadows in the corner as the door cracked open.

"Dean, everything okay?" Bobby peered in from the doorway, but didn't enter the room.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a dream," Dean reassured him.

To Dean's relief, Bobby didn't press the issue. "Okay, then. Holler if you need anything."

"Sure. Thanks."

Bobby retreated, closing the door behind him. Dean waited until the footsteps had made it all the way downstairs before whispering fiercely, "Cas! You could've been caught!"

Cas emerged from the shadows and sat at the edge of the bed. "But I wasn't. It's fine, Dean, don't worry. You were dreaming?" he asked, prompting Dean to sigh.

"Yeah." He fiddled with a spot on the edge of the blanket that was starting to come unraveled. The weight of the dream had left him, but the unsettled feeling remained. "I dreamed about my dad," he murmured. Normally, he'd rather eat nails than talk about something that left him feeling so raw, but somehow, with Castiel, it was okay.

"I suppose that shouldn't be surprising," Cas said as he pulled his feet up onto the bed and wrapped his arms around his shins.

"I guess not," Dean replied. "I just can't get it out of my head, you know? When I close my eyes, it's all I see. All the- the blood and everything. Dammit, I hate feeling so helpless." He clamped his jaw shut to keep his lip from quivering.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

A corner of his mouth quirked up. "Cas, you're the only reason I'm alive to be having bad dreams. It's not on you."

"I know," Cas assured him, "but I still regret that you had to witness what happened. I know it's difficult."

"Yeah." Dean looked down to study the blanket his fingers continued to fray.

After a pause, Cas spoke up again, his voice sounding oddly strained. "I understand what you're feeling."

Dean's eyes flicked back up. "Cas, I told you before that was creepy."

"No, I mean, I _understand_ it. Yes, I can feel it, too, but..." He paused again, tightening his arms around his knees. "When I was first brought here, I saw my maker...my mother...killed as she tried to retrieve me. I was a child, and I didn't understand what was happening to me, but I saw her die. There was nothing I could do, either. So I do understand how you feel."

"Cas..." Dean was at a loss for words.

"It was a long time ago."

"I'm sorry, man."

Castiel smiled softly. "It wasn't your fault."

Dean huffed air through his nose in what might have been a laugh in another situation. "I guess not."

Cas breathed a slow sigh. "Even decades later, I still sometimes have nightmares."

Wait...

"Decades?" Dean asked incredulously.

Cas frowned a little, but confirmed with a nod.

"Um, Cas? Exactly how long have you been here?"

He cocked his head as he thought about it. "I can't tell you exactly how long. I lost track a long time ago. But it's been at least thirty-five years."

Dean knew he was staring, but he couldn't quite wrap his head around that. "That's impossible! You were a little kid the first time I saw you."

"Yes. When I was first brought here, I was just a fledgling. I stayed like that for many years. I only started growing again soon after I met you. After I healed you."

"Well, that's weird as shit," Dean declared. "Why would meeting me change things? And why'd you stay little beforehand? It doesn't make any sense."

Cas shrugged, apparently unbothered by it. "I don't know. It's just the way it is."

Dean humphed, puzzling briefly over what he'd just learned before shaking his head and letting it go for the moment. He met Cas's eyes in the dark room. "I'm sorry about your...maker."

"Me, too," Cas answered softly.

Taking a deep breath, Dean scrubbed his fingers through his short hair. "Let's talk about something else."

Cas nodded. "All right." Unsurprisingly, he didn't offer any alternative topics.

"So, um...Bobby's gonna let us live with him."

"That's very kind of him," Cas replied.

"Yeah. His place is up in Sioux Falls. He owns a salvage yard there. He's been a friend of my dad's forever, and we ended up there a lot when we were kids. He seems crabby, but really he's a great guy."

Cas nodded. "That's good."

"So, you'll be able to find us there?" Dean asked. "I mean, without Sam or me getting hit by a car or eaten by bears or something?"

"Yes, I can always find you."

"And you will, right? Come visit us?"

"Yes. I assumed you would want that after our discussion earlier."

Dean nodded. "Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure."

A hint of a smile crossed Cas's face.

Dean started to return the smile, but it broke into a huge yawn instead.

"I'll go now," Cas said as he got to his feet. "You should sleep if you can."

Feeling much calmer now, Dean thought sleep might not be out of the question. "Okay. Thanks. For talking."

"You're welcome."

As Dean watched, Castiel spread his wings and disappeared with a rustle of feathers. Sam had been reading up on angels and demons at the library for a while now. Maybe he'd have some idea how to explain Cas's bizarre past. Dean would have to ask him tomorrow.


	26. Chapter 26

**June 15, 1995**

"Well, boys, here we are. I wasn't planning for this, so one of you's gotta sleep on the couch until we can get another room set up," Bobby said as he pushed open the door to his house.

Their new home.

Dean stepped into the front room and looked around. It hadn't changed much from the last time he'd seen it a couple of years ago. Still cluttered, still dusty, and still full of stacks upon stacks of very old books. He set down the box he was carrying and slung his duffel bag onto the end of the couch. "No problem," he said. "I can sleep here as long as I need to."

Sam gave Dean a look but didn't argue. He probably knew it was pointless.

The drive up from Kansas had been long – the longest Dean had ever driven in one shot in the short time since he'd gotten his license. He and Sam had followed Bobby's ancient pickup to South Dakota in the Impala. It was a weird feeling driving so far with just the two of them in the car.

Bobby dropped his boxes near Dean's, and Sam followed suit. Pulling off his ball cap, Bobby ran his fingers through his thinning hair, smoothing it back before replacing the cap. "Well, now that we're here, there's someone I want you boys to meet."

From his tone, Dean could tell it was someone special that he wanted to introduce them to. Did Bobby have a girlfriend? Gross.

Bobby closed his eyes, and almost immediately, there was an angel in the room with them. Dean stepped back in shock. Bobby had an _angel?_

The angel looked at them with kind, brown eyes and gave them a gentle smile. Though his dark skin was unlined, there was gray peppered in his hair and beard, and his halo was dim. He seemed...old.

"Hello," the angel greeted them. His voice was raspy but warm and sort of fuzzy. "My name is Joshua."

Sam broke through his stunned surprise before Dean. He held out a hand and said, "Hi, I'm Sam Winchester. It's nice to meet you." His eyes were wide and full of awe.

Joshua turned expectantly to Dean.

"I'm Dean." He didn't offer to shake hands. "I didn't know Bobby had an angel," he added, shooting an accusing look his way.

Bobby made a rude noise. "That's your dad's doing, not mine. Even after all these years, he won't come anywhere near here if Joshua's around... Wouldn't," he corrected himself.

Anger at his dead father burned in Dean's stomach. "It wasn't enough to keep Gabriel away from us? We couldn't even _know_ about Joshua?"

Bobby sighed sadly. "Your dad... He thought he was protecting you."

Dean clamped his jaw shut and refused to say anything more, the anger simmering hot in his belly.

Then Sam piped up, his curiosity impossible to stifle. "So, Joshua? Can I ask you about angel stuff? I've read a lot, but I have a bunch of questions."

With a chuckle, Joshua replied, "Of course. I'm happy to answer any questions you have. But you folks have quite a bit of unpacking to do yet, and I know Bobby at least is hungry. If you like, I'll return tomorrow to talk."

Sam looked a little bit bummed that he had to wait, but he nodded, "That'd be cool."

"I have a whole mess of books on angel lore, too," Bobby offered. "You're welcome to read anything I got, though it ain't all in English."

"That's great. Thanks!" Sam said. Dean was glad to see him smiling. He hadn't done much of that since Dad died.

Joshua addressed Bobby. "I'm sorry to leave you to move all those boxes, but I'm needed soon in my garrison."

"Raid?"

Pursing his lips, Joshua nodded. He gave Bobby a significant look. "You know I'm not on the front lines anymore."

Bobby grunted unhappily. "Yeah, but that don't mean I don't worry."

Joshua turned to Sam and Dean, giving them a nod of farewell. "It was nice to meet you both. I'll see you soon."

"Bye!" Sam waved.

"Later," Dean said, far less enthusiastic than Sam, even though none of this was Joshua's fault.

Joshua patted Bobby on the shoulder before he vanished, off to go battle demons or whatever angels did in their spare time.

Dean glared at the floor. It sucked that Dad kept Joshua a secret from them. It sucked that he'd banished Gabriel from their lives. And now it sucked to realize that Castiel wouldn't be free to visit whenever he wanted because Bobby had a stupid angel. And he had no idea how he was supposed to warn Cas of the danger.

A thought wormed its way in, but he immediately shut it out. There was no way he could tell Bobby and Joshua about Cas. An angel had nearly killed Cas already. He couldn't take the risk.

* * *

That evening, while Dean was helping him put fresh sheets on his new bed, Sam asked the question Dean had been struggling with since they'd arrived.

"What are we gonna do about Castiel and Joshua?" he asked, his forehead crinkled in worry.

They could hear Bobby banging around in the kitchen downstairs, but Dean shot a nervous glance at the bedroom door anyway. He replied in a whisper, "I got no idea. I know Cas can take care of himself, but we gotta let him know so he doesn't get caught off guard."

Sam shook out the folded flat sheet and floofed it out across the bed, looking thoughtful. "Have you tried praying to him? I know he said he doesn't hear prayers, but maybe you can get the idea of it across anyway."

"I dunno, I guess I could try." Dean frowned, remembering how upset Castiel had been when Dean had first mentioned prayer to him all those years ago. He sighed and tucked the ends of the sheet in place before throwing the quilt back on the bed in a heap for Sam to sort out. "Joshua said he wouldn't be back until tomorrow, right? It should be safe enough to try to call Cas here to explain in person."

"You should go out to the scrap yard. If you do it in the house, Bobby might see you on accident."

Dean chucked the pillow at Sam's face. "Good idea. You coming, too?"

Sam caught the pillow, and as he struggled to stuff it into its pillowcase, he said, "Naw, I'll stay here and keep Bobby busy. I want to see what angel books he's got anyway."

They finished up the bed and went downstairs. Dean waited until he heard Sam get Bobby talking about angel lore, then slipped out the front door. He moved through the rows of mangled machinery in the yard until he was well out of sight of the house. Near the back fence, he found the remains of an old Impala not too different from his own. Under the yellow security lights, it looked brown, but he thought it might actually be red. It'd been a two-door coupe and the whole back end of the car was smashed. The front wasn't too badly damaged, though, so Dean climbed up to sit on the hood and looked up at the sky.

It was nearly dark out, but there were only a couple of feeble looking stars visible yet. Of course, with the glare of the lights, it wasn't exactly the best place for stargazing anyway.

Dean closed his eyes and prayed. "Castiel? Cas, can you hear me? I need to talk to you."

He glanced around, but there was no sign of him. Shutting his eyes, he tried again. "Come on, Cas, please! It's important. It's not safe for you here."

Once again, Dean found himself frustratingly alone in the junkyard. The anger he'd been feeling flared up again, but now he was mad at everything, not just his dad. He knew perfectly well he was being unreasonable, but it didn't matter – he was pissed and frustrated and all of this _sucked_.

"Dammit, Cas!" he yelled. "I need you!"

"Dean?"

Startled, Dean whipped his head around to find Bobby giving him the hairy eyeball. "Bobby! I, uh... thought you were inside with Sam."

"Well, I was, until your brother got mighty damn squirrelly when I asked him where you thought you were headed to at this time of night. So what _are_ you doing out here?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean gave a non-verbal 'I don't know' noise. Fire burned in his cheeks at getting caught. At least Cas hadn't shown and gotten caught with him.

"Who's Cas?"

"Huh?" Dean fumbled to come up with any kind of answer, but his pulse was thudding so loud in his ears, he couldn't think.

Bobby squinted at him a little sideways. "Is it a girl? Someone you liked back home?"

That was as good a lie as any. Dean shrugged again.

Pressing his lips into a line, Bobby nodded. "I'm sorry, boy. I know it's tough. Hard enough losing your dad, but having to pull up stakes and leave everything you know behind, too. If you ever want to talk..." He trailed off uncomfortably, then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and said, "I'm gonna head back in. Let you...you know. Whatever. You know where to find me."

"Yeah." Dean kept his eyes down. "I'll be in soon."

Bobby stood there for a second, probably staring him down, but then he turned and headed back toward the house. Dean looked up once Bobby was a good distance away and watched until he disappeared around a row of smashed pickups.

"Dean?"

Biting back a yelp of surprise, Dean jerked his head around to find Castiel on the other side of the Impala. "Dammit, Cas! You about gave me a heart attack," he whispered harshly.

Cas blinked and took a step back. "I'm sorry, I thought-"

"Shit... No, _I'm_ sorry. It's been a crap day, and I shouldn't've snapped at you." Dean leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. "I need to talk to you, though, so I'm glad you came."

"What's wrong? I know you're frustrated and angry."

Dean squirmed at the reminder that Cas always knew how he was feeling. "Yeah, um. It turns out Bobby has an angel."

" _What?_ " Cas hissed as his whole body tensed – his wings half spread, his hand on the knife at his belt, and his eyes darting around frantically.

"It's okay, he's not here tonight. My _dad-_ " he spat the word, "-kept him away from us. I didn't even know about him until today."

Though still wary, Cas relaxed a little. "Thank you for warning me."

Dean tipped his head in a shrugging nod. "I didn't want you getting hurt again. Or Joshua, either, I guess. In any case, be careful, okay?"

"I will." Cas tilted his head in question. "Is everything all right, Dean?"

Sighing heavily, Dean replied, "Yeah, it's fine. I'm just pissed. Everything's been so messed up for so long, and it's all my dad's fault, and I'm just so damn _mad_. This Joshua thing was the last straw, I guess."

"I know your father has done many things to hurt you, but I don't believe that's why you're angry." Castiel folded his wings back and leaned a hip against the car. "You're angry because he left you," he said bluntly.

Shaken, Dean stared at Cas. "What?"

"You feel as though he abandoned you by dying. But you should remember that this, at least, he didn't do intentionally." Cas's eyes were fixed on Dean's, an anchor for Dean to cling to.

"Intentional or not, he's still _gone_ , Cas!" Dean insisted. "If he hadn't banished Gabriel-" He cut himself off. He'd never told Cas that he'd once had an angel, too. The realization made him uncomfortable, as if he'd been deliberately lying to his friend this whole time.

"Demons killed him. He didn't leave you." Cas took a step closer and gripped Dean's upper arm. "And you're not alone, Dean. You have Sam, and you have Bobby. And me."

Dean's eyes focused on the hand at his shoulder. It was true. Cas had been there for Dean since he was four years old – maybe not the whole time, but certainly when he needed him the most.

He shrugged, not trusting himself to say anything.

Cas let him go and backed away a couple of steps. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't interfere. Thank you for the warning about the angel. I'll return when I can."

"No, Cas, don't go," Dean said. "Please? Would you just... hang out here for a while?"

Cas gave a slow nod. "If you wish."

Dean scooted up on the car's hood, leaning back against the windshield. Cas climbed up, too, a little hesitantly at first, but settled down beside Dean, tucking his wings to the sides to keep from squashing them. The warmth and pressure of Cas's feathers against Dean's arm was comforting, soothing the anger still bubbling in his gut.

Frowning up at the few visible stars, Dean considered what Cas had said. Yes, his dad was gone, but he did still have people in his life who were important to him. He glanced over at Cas's shaggy-haired profile as he looked up to the sky. Cas was right. Instead of resenting what he'd lost, he should focus on what he still had.


	27. Chapter 27

**May 5, 1996**

Castiel took shelter from the unseasonably warm sun in the shade of an oak tree and watched the river flow by. He glanced at the sky and frowned. It wasn't as if they kept to a strict schedule, but the Winchesters were usually here by now. Closing his eyes, he reached out, seeking the brothers' location. His frown deepened. They weren't together – Dean was quite near, but Sam was still in Sioux Falls.

A few minutes later, Castiel heard Dean making his way down the path to the water, so he stood and shook out his wings, yawning and stretching out the kinks after the long wait.

"Hey, Cas," Dean called as soon as he came into view through the trees.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greeted him. "No Sam today?"

Dean lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Naw, me and Bobby got him an N64 for his birthday, so he and his friend Barry have been playing Mario for the last two days straight."

Castiel didn't understand all of that, but gathered he was referring to a game. "I guess he liked his gift, then."

"You could say that." Dean picked up a couple of rocks before flopping down in his usual spot on the riverbank and leaning back against the fallen log there.

Preferring to keep his wings free, Castiel sat atop the log instead. "Have you been well?"

Idly tossing his rocks into the water, Dean hesitated before answering, "I guess."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Dean paused mid-throw, his hand dropping back down to his lap.

"Did something happen?" Castiel pressed.

Expression darkening, Dean seemed to shrink in on himself. He shrugged limply.

"Dean." Castiel waited until Dean looked up to meet his eyes. "What happened?"

"Look, it's not that big a deal, okay? It's nothing." Dean couldn't hold his gaze very long, and Castiel could see the shine of unshed tears in his eyes before he turned away. He threw another rock, much harder this time. "It's fine."

Castiel scooted down from his perch on the log to sit beside Dean on the ground. He put a hand over Dean's wrist before he could fling another stone and felt him relax minutely at the touch. "It's clearly not fine."

Dean kept his gaze out over the water. A tiny tremble began in his lower lip until he bit down on it. His face screwed up as he tried to keep a rein on his emotions, perhaps forgetting that Castiel felt everything he did. He sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping even more. "Amanda Heckerling broke up with me."

The last few times Dean and Sam had met up with Castiel here by the river, Dean had spoken of this girl. He'd seemed so light and happy these past few weeks, but now it seemed the same girl was the cause of his current pain.

"Why?"

"She said she didn't think we were a 'good fit'." Dean picked at the ground-in grease that always lingered in the creases of his knuckles and beds of his nails no matter how much he scrubbed. "We were gonna go to prom, but I told her I couldn't do a lot of the stuff other people do, like get a limo and fancy food. My Baby's better than a limo anyway, and food's food, right? We could still go and dance and see people and have fun. But that wasn't good enough, I guess. _I'm_ not good enough."

Dean's cheeks had turned a blotchy red. "I really liked her, Cas. And I know I'm nothing special, but I thought she liked me, too."

"Don't say that," Castiel reprimanded sharply. "Of course you're special."

"Yeah, sure," Dean muttered.

"Dean..."

"But, Cas, she's right," Dean insisted miserably. "I'll never be like her. She's smart and classy and lives in a big, fancy house, and her parents are both doctors, for crying out loud. I'll be lucky to graduate high school."

"Dean, stop it. You've taken care of yourself and Sam almost your whole lives, despite being a child yourself. You're strong. You're smart and capable. You're a wonderful person, Dean – kind and thoughtful and giving. And if this _girl_ cannot see you for who you are, then she's the one who's inferior."

Dean flushed again under the fierce defense of his character. "Okay, okay. Jeez."

Castiel smoothed his feathers, which had ruffled up in his agitation. "I apologize, Dean," he said softly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. And I'm sorry this girl has hurt you."

After an awkward silence, Castiel added, "How are things other than that?"

"Fine, I guess," Dean said with a sigh. "They're gonna keep me on at the garage full time over the summer. If I keep working for Bobby on the weekends, too, I'll be able to save most of the money for Sammy's college fund. He wants to be a lawyer. Can you believe that? Sure, he's plenty smart – the little nerd's a total genius – but I don't think he's enough of an asshole to be a real lawyer."

Dean smiled tightly at his own joke, but Castiel just felt sad. Money was always at the front of Dean's mind. He hated being a financial burden on Bobby, and had finally convinced the man to let him work at the scrap yard on the weekends as a small contribution to supporting him and Sam. Castiel had never met him, of course, but he had the distinct impression that Bobby only agreed to it to make Dean feel better, not because he needed the help.

"I'm sure Sam will be successful no matter what he chooses to do," Castiel commented.

"Yeah."

Dean fell quiet again, concentrating on throwing more rocks, aiming them at a mossy boulder that peeked out of the water a ways out from the bank. Eventually he ran out of rocks, so he started scratching in the dirt with a stick instead.

"Hey, Cas?" he ventured.

"Yes, Dean?"

Adding fiddly details to his dirt drawings, Dean kept his head down. "Do you really think all those things you said? About me?"

The timid question pulled at Castiel's heart. It distressed him to know how little Dean thought of himself. "Yes. All those things and more."

Dean didn't look up or respond, but the tension in his shoulders eased. He scribbled his fingers through the dirt, erasing what he'd drawn, and began picking at the loose bark on his drawing stick instead.

Castiel watched Dean, knowing it would take him some time to process what he'd said. Castiel would never say so aloud, but he was suddenly very glad Sam hadn't come today. Usually he loved spending time with Sam, too, but he was quite sure that Dean would never have spoken of any of this had his brother been present.

At last, Dean threw the stripped stick into the water and watched it float sluggishly in the eddies by the bank before catching in the greater current. "Hey, Cas? You wanna swim?"

Castiel smiled. "Yes, that sounds good."


	28. Chapter 28

**October 12, 1996**

Sam triumphantly held aloft his dead pheasant as he tramped across the field back toward Dean and Bobby. His proud grin lit up his whole face. It was their first pheasant of the season, and Sam's first ever. Dean shifted his shotgun to his shoulder and gave a supportive, "Woo!" as his brother made his way back.

He glanced up at Bobby who wore a tight smile on his face – more of a grimace than a smile. For the last several weeks, Dean and Sam had been excited to go on their first hunting trip. Bobby had made both boys take a hunters' safety course and taken them out to shoot at a range before he agreed to let them join him for pheasant season. But now that they were actually out hunting, Dean was spending more time watching Bobby than he was with having fun.

The last day or two, Bobby had seemed a little under the weather – mostly noticeable in his increased crankiness. But he'd promised to take the boys hunting this weekend, so hunting they went. It didn't seem to Dean like they'd been out that long, but Bobby looked worn out, with a fine sheen of sweat on his face.

Sam trotted up, grinning madly. "That was awesome! Can we eat it tonight?"

Dean glanced at Bobby before answering Sam. "Yeah, duh! Maybe we can do pheasant under glass – ooh la-la!" He delivered the last with a raised pinky and a snooty accent, then added, "You gotta clean it, though."

Dismay crossed Sam's face as he looked down at the dead bird, and Dean had to laugh.

"Them's the rules, Sammy – you kill it, you clean it! But I'll help you. Bobby can teach us both how, right Bobby?"

Bobby grunted and let his hand drop from where he'd been massaging his arm. "Sure. Gotta learn sometime," he answered, but he seemed awfully distracted.

The vague worry Dean had been feeling worsened. "Um, you know, maybe we should call it a day. Sam's got us some dinner already. I'm kinda tired, and it's hot." It wasn't. "How about we head on back to the truck?"

Sam looked puzzled for a second, but followed Dean's gaze to where Bobby was pulling his hat from his head and mopping his forehead with his sleeve. "Yeah, sounds good," Sam agreed, shooting an understanding look back to his brother.

"All right, fine. Let's get the hell home," Bobby grunted.

"Hey, can I drive?" Dean asked hopefully. "I need more practice driving stick."

Bobby carefully fished the keys from his pocket. He handed them to Dean, and the three of them began the hike back to the truck. Dean dawdled a bit, making sure they didn't move faster than Bobby seemed comfortable with.

They'd barely made it halfway back when Bobby stiffened and clutched his chest just under his left shoulder. "Shit," he gasped as he dropped to his knees.

"Bobby!" Sam cried, dropping both his pheasant and his shotgun and racing to Bobby's side just as he collapsed the rest of the way to the ground.

Dean got there just in time to help soften the landing. "Bobby, what is it? What's happening?"

Bobby's face was gray and screwed up in pain. His breath hissed in gasps between his teeth. "Think...I'm havin' a heart attack."

Oh, crap. Oh, crap! Dean had all of one second to freak out before Joshua appeared in a rush of air.

"Bobby!" The angel dropped to his knees beside the man, using Sam's shoulder as a handhold as he did so. "Bobby, talk to me!"

The only answer he got was a groan through a clenched jaw, so Joshua placed a gnarled hand to Bobby's bearded cheek and closed his eyes to focus.

This was the first time Dean had seen someone healed by anyone besides Castiel, and it was totally different. At least it _felt_ different. When Cas had healed him and Sam, energy had hummed under Dean's skin, and he'd assumed that was just what healing felt like. But now he felt nothing but his own fear and worry.

Joshua frowned, concentrating hard, and his halo flickered weakly in the sunlight. A sweat broke over his forehead, and finally he sat back from Bobby with a shuddering gasp of air.

Bobby was no longer writhing in pain, but he didn't open his eyes either.

"Is he okay? Is he healed?" Dean asked frantically.

Still panting, Joshua shook his head. "He's out of immediate danger, but I couldn't- I-I need to get him to a hospital. I can't heal him completely."

Sam's eyes were huge as they flicked between Bobby's face and Joshua's. "Will you be able to fly him?"

Joshua nodded, but his expression left Dean doubtful. The angel seemed almost as weak as Bobby.

"I won't be able to bring you with us. Can you get back to Sioux Falls on your own?" Joshua asked.

"Yeah, go – get him to a doctor!" Dean answered. He had the keys and a moderate skill at driving the truck. He'd get them there.

"New Hope General," Joshua told them before gripping Bobby's shoulder and whisking them both away.

In the shocked silence that followed, Dean realized he was shaking. Not even a year and a half since Dad died, and now this. The thought of losing Bobby, too, left him sick with fear. He looked up and met Sam's frightened eyes, and that gave him the steel he needed to get to his feet.

"Come on, Sam. Let's go!"

Sam scooped up his prized pheasant and his shotgun. Dean grabbed both his and Bobby's guns, and the two of them took off at a lope across the field.

They were both sweating and sucking air by the time they finally made it to the truck. They secured the shotguns behind the bench seat and Sam tossed the bird to the floorboards at his feet as he scrambled in. Dean started the truck with a roar, and after grinding a few gears, they took off, bouncing down the dirt track toward the highway.

Fifteen dusty minutes later, they were on asphalt again and tearing down the road faster than Dean would normally dare – in an unfamiliar vehicle, at least. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and he clenched his jaw. It didn't seem like they'd driven this far on the way out, but the way back seemed endless.

Sam broke the silence when they were still a few miles out of town. "Why didn't Castiel come?"

Dean frowned. Any time Dean had been that freaked out in the past, Cas had appeared. Why not today? "I don't know. Maybe because we weren't the ones hurt? Or maybe he knew Joshua was there."

He gnawed on his lip. That must be it. The presence of an angel, even one Dean trusted, would certainly be enough to keep Cas from showing himself.

Sam made a non-committal noise, but nodded.

When they reached the outskirts of Sioux Falls, Dean stopped at home for two minutes to take in the shotguns and the pheasant. Who knew how long they'd be at the hospital, and he didn't want to come out later to find pheasant under windshield cooking on the floorboards. While Sam dumped the bird in the fridge in a bag, Dean grabbed the phone book to figure out where the hell New Hope General was.

At last, they reached the hospital and were directed to Bobby's room. Joshua was there with him, and it was a toss-up which of them looked worse. Dean hadn't really thought of Bobby as all that old before, but here in this room with all the equipment humming and beeping, he looked frail and weak. Dean's stomach lurched unpleasantly.

Bobby was sleeping, but Joshua rose as they came in. "You made it."

Sam wrapped his arms around the angel's middle and hugged him hard. "How is he?" he asked worriedly, releasing Joshua and inching up to the side of the bed to peer at Bobby.

"He'll be all right. They were able to get him stabilized. He'll be home and snapping at all of us soon enough," Joshua said softly. He smiled, but somehow it just made him look sad.

They all stood around uncomfortably for a while after that, watching Bobby sleep and staring at the machines as if they might tell them something new. Joshua dropped back into the chair at the head of the bed, looking exhausted. A nurse came by to switch out an IV bag, and shortly after, she brought in two plastic chairs for Dean and Sam to use.

"Joshua?" Sam's voice was so small it was nearly swallowed in the hospital hubbub.

"Hm?"

"Why couldn't you heal Bobby all the way? You're his angel."

Joshua sighed heavily, and Dean got the feeling he'd been expecting the question for a while now.

The angel reached out to wrap his fingers around Bobby's limp ones. "I'm not strong enough anymore. Bobby is the last of the Singer line," he answered.

"If you're not strong enough, then shouldn't you have raised a new angel?"

Joshua shook his head. "We draw energy from the humans to whom we are bound – for healing, for flight, even just to live. Bobby is the only remaining Singer, so when he dies, his angel will die, too. Without a continuing bloodline, it would be cruel of us to bring a fledgling here to live such a short life."

"That's why I couldn't feel it." The words popped out of Dean's mouth before he even realized he'd thought them.

"I'm sorry?" Joshua looked at him curiously.

Dean faltered. He'd been thinking about the strange humming energy he felt whenever Cas healed him or Sam, but he couldn't tell that to Joshua. "Uh...I, um, was remembering when I was little. I could feel it when Gabriel healed someone, but not when you healed Bobby."

"Ah, Gabriel." A gentle smile spread over Joshua's face. "Troublemaker, that one."

Dean blinked in surprise. "You know Gabriel?"

Joshua nodded, a faraway look in his eye. "Yes. Your father and Bobby had been friends for a long time, and when John brought your mother to meet him for the first time, Gabriel popped in to visit as well. I haven't seen him in quite some time, though. Not since your father banished him."

"You know about that?" Dean felt oddly ashamed, even though his father was the one who'd done it.

Joshua's expression turned thoughtful. "Of course," he replied, but he seemed distracted. "I hadn't considered..."

"What?" Sam piped up.

Shaking himself out of his musings, Joshua smiled sadly again. "Never mind. It's not important right now anyway."

Dean's curiosity was piqued, but he promptly forgot about it when a raspy voice came from the bed.

"What're you idjits yammering on about?"

Sam and Dean both crowded closer to the bed, and Joshua's smile turned genuine for the first time that day. "Robert Steven Singer, don't you _ever_ do that to me again," the angel scolded.

Bobby scowled weakly and struggled to raise his head a few inches. "Are you holding my damn hand?"

Joshua chuckled and squeezed his fingers tighter. "Yes, I am. And I'll stop as soon as you can make me."

"Damn angel," Bobby grumbled. "Sometimes I think you forget I grew up a hell of a long time ago. I don't need mollycoddling."

Bobby continued complaining under his breath for a while before finally asking, "So is somebody gonna tell me what the hell happened?"

As Joshua gave Bobby a rundown of what the doctors had told him so far, Dean relaxed a little. Being told Bobby would be all right was one thing, but now that he was awake and bitching at them, he could finally believe it.


	29. Chapter 29

**November 1, 1996**

Sam and Dean barged through the front door of the house, heading for the kitchen in a thunderous stampede of pushing and shoving. Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs and ducked in front, the dirty cheater, but Dean grabbed Sam's backpack and dragged him back again. They barreled neck and neck into the kitchen only to stop short when they saw the bowl that had held the leftover Halloween candy was empty.

Indignant, Dean opened his mouth to complain but was cut off by Bobby calling out to them from the living room.

"Problem, boys?" he asked.

Dean followed Sam into the front room, where Bobby sat in his recliner with an ancient book in his hands and a whole bunch of empty candy wrappers scattered over the end table beside him.

With a huff, Sam whined, "There's none left? Aw, maaaaan."

Bobby smirked and shrugged.

But Dean had to laugh. He and Sam had been the ones to announce they needed candy in case trick-or-treaters came for Halloween. Bobby had told them no one ever came to a salvage yard to trick-or-treat, but they'd insisted. Bobby had relented, and now he was smug in the fact that he had known perfectly well they'd been expecting to poach the leftovers.

Bobby's face turned more serious. "You boys got a minute? We wanted to talk to you about something."

A nervous twinge immediately shot through Dean's belly. Disaster scenarios crowded his head: Bobby's heart was giving out and he was dying, Bobby couldn't pay the hospital bills and was kicking them out on the streets, Bobby knew Dean had taken the old Chevelle out for a joy ride...

"We?" asked Sam.

"Joshua and me," Bobby clarified. He closed his eyes to pray, and a moment later, the angel appeared.

He smiled warmly at the boys, then cringed. "Oh, dear. What did Bobby say? You both look like you're expecting a death sentence."

"You shut it, Sparkles," Bobby grumbled. "I ain't told them nothing yet."

Joshua laughed and made himself comfortable in the other recliner. He waved a hand toward the couch. "Why don't you have a seat."

A glance passed between Dean and Sam, then Sam shrugged and dropped down onto the couch with a bounce, squirming out of his backpack and coat. Still unsure about the whole thing, Dean took off his leather jacket and followed.

Hesitantly, Joshua cleared his throat. "Now, this came up a few weeks ago, when Bobby was in the hospital. You said something, Dean, that got me thinking. Bobby and I have done a little research and talked it over and... well, we think it might be possible to break Gabriel's banishment."

Neither Dean nor Sam said a word. It took a second for the words to even register for Dean, and when they did, a million thoughts and feelings hit him at once.

Gabriel.

Their angel. He'd saved them from the fire and nearly died trying to save their mom. He'd been forced from their lives so long ago that Dean only remembered him in flashes, vague images, and feelings of safety and love. He was the missing piece of their family.

Hope, joy, and excitement all clashed in a rush to be felt first.

"It won't be easy," Bobby cautioned. "It's going to take some time to figure out exactly how it was done so it can be _un_ done."

"And we need to locate the woman who did the original spell, which may be difficult," Joshua added.

"But we got feelers out. We'll find her, don't you worry," Bobby reassured them. "Maybe as little as a few months from now, you'll have your angel back!"

* * *

Dean was sprawled on his bed in the dark, his mind in a whirl. He couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

Gabriel.

He wanted the angel back desperately. He missed him. He'd been missing him for so long, he didn't remember what it was like _not_ to miss him. And selfish as it felt to think about, Gabriel was Dean's closest link to his mom. The angel had known her from the day she was born, knew more about who she was than anyone else alive. And Dean wanted that connection.

But he was nervous.

What if Gabriel had forgotten all about him? It was possible there were distant cousins Dean didn't know about. What if the angel had a whole new life with a whole new family?

And then there was Castiel. Dean had still never told him he'd had an angel as a child. He hadn't thought it mattered, since it was so far in the past, and Gabriel was long gone. But if Gabriel were returned to them, what would happen with Cas?

The vague, unsettling worries just kept going round and round in his head, and he knew he wasn't going to get a wink of sleep tonight.

"Dean?"

Sam stood silhouetted in the doorway, peering blindly into the dark room. Dean leaned over to turn on the lamp by his bed and scrunched his eyes shut at the sudden brightness.

"Hey, Sammy. S'up?" He scooted up to sit against the headboard, cushioned by his pillow.

Sam closed the door with a click and sat on the floor beside the bed, leaning back against it. He ran his fingers through his way-too-long hair and plucked at the leg of his sweat pants.

"If Gabriel comes back, what do you think Castiel will do?" he asked bluntly.

Dean sighed. Even though he'd been thinking about it non-stop since this afternoon, he didn't want to say any of it aloud on the off chance it might come true. "I don't know, Sammy. It's hard enough with Joshua around. There's no way Cas will ever trust an angel, no matter who it is."

"I know."

"It's just...I'm worried he'll be pissed about it. What if he hates me? I didn't mean for it to be a secret, but now that's what it feels like, and he's gonna be mad." All of Dean's fear and anxiety came pouring out. "What am I supposed to do? I want Gabriel back, but I'm scared Cas'll leave."

"Well, you should probably tell Castiel before it happens, so he doesn't get blindsided," Sam suggested.

Dean nodded, knowing Sam was right, but the anxiety didn't ease up.

Sam continued thoughtfully, "We can't tell Gabriel about Cas without his permission – he'd never forgive us for that. Do you even think Gabriel would...be okay with Cas?"

"I'd like to think he would, but what do I know? I was just a little kid when he was around. I barely even remember him."

Sam shifted, turning to look up at Dean worriedly. "So, here's the thing. Castiel's not really an angel, but he sort of _is_ , with the halo and the healing and everything, right? And since he can heal _us_ , that means he's bound to our bloodline. So what happens when Gabriel comes back? Is he gonna be able to, I don't know...sense Cas somehow?"

Dean considered it for a second. "I don't think so," he said slowly. "I mean, if we're right about all that, then he was bound to the family way before we were ever born. If he couldn't sense Cas before, why would he be able to now?"

"That makes sense, I guess," Sam nodded. "So he won't find out about Castiel if we don't tell him. And as long as you tell Cas before Gabriel comes, he should be able to avoid stumbling into him accidentally."

Another needle of fear pierced Dean. "Sammy, what if he's mad? What if he hates me for keeping it from him?"

"Dean, you didn't do it on purpose. Besides, it's Cas. I don't think he could ever hate you. Not even if you _were_ being a jerk." Sam looked up at him with a smirk on his lips, but sincerity in his eyes.

Sam's reassurance actually seemed to help. Dean's churning stomach calmed a little. "Okay. We'll see him this weekend. I'll tell him then."

"Good." After a moment's hesitation, Sam asked timidly, "Hey, Dean? What was Gabriel like?"

Dean wasn't really sure how to answer that, but as he thought about it, he found himself smiling. "I remember he was funny. He always played with me when he visited, even when he couldn't stay long. He liked candy and sneaked me Tootsie Rolls every time he stopped in." He chuckled at his four-year-old self. "I thought I was really getting away with something, but Mom must have known..."

He fell quiet, the bittersweet memories from before the fire bringing a painful lump to his throat. "He was different after that night. The night of the fire. I don't mean the scars – at least, not the ones on the outside. He nearly killed himself trying to save her, you know, and I think part of him died with her."

Dean stopped and blinked away the wetness in his eyes. "I miss him, Sammy. I want him to come home."

He wasn't even sure what had prompted him to say any of this aloud, let alone get all mushy about it. Maybe he was just stirred up at the prospect of the banishment being broken.

But Sam didn't make fun of him for it. "Me, too," he said softly. "I can't wait to meet him."


	30. Chapter 30

**November 3, 1996**

Castiel shivered and fluffed his feathers to trap more warmth against his body. He sat in his customary place on the log at the river's edge, waiting for Dean and Sam to arrive. An inexplicable anxiety was making it difficult to wait patiently, however. He fiddled with the laces on his boots and tugged at the hair hanging down over his forehead – it was too long again. Usually he just hacked it off with his knife when it got long enough to bother him, but it was already so cold that he didn't want to cut it until spring. There was only a dusting of snow at the moment, but the edges of the river had already frozen, and he expected a bitterly cold winter.

He moved off the log, sitting instead with his back to it to shelter himself from the wind. Hopefully the Winchesters would arrive soon.

Not much later, he felt the brothers approaching, but he waited until they actually broke through the tree line before getting up.

"Hey, Castiel." Sam waved with a gloved hand. His nose and cheeks were already flushed red from the cold, despite the woolen toque on his head.

"Hello, Sam. Hello, Dean. Are you well?"

Dean lifted his chin in greeting, but his smile seemed forced. "Hey, Cas. Yeah, we're good."

The anxious feeling spiked in Castiel's chest. He tipped his head and studied Dean as he came closer. Nothing was obviously wrong – neither he nor Sam were injured – but nevertheless, Castiel felt that something was not right.

The boys picked their way through the rocks and deadfall down to the bank, and as soon as they were close enough, Castiel reached for the brothers' shoulders. "Shall we retreat somewhere warmer?"

But Dean flinched back from his hand and wouldn't meet his eyes. "Wait," he said.

"Dean?" Castiel drew his arms back under his wings. His brows pulled together in a frown – worry, guilt, and fear radiated off Dean in a thick aura. "What's the matter?"

Dean plucked at the fingertips of his gloves and kept his eyes down. Castiel's quick glance at Sam gave him no clues as to what was happening, and any emotions he might have read from him were drowned out by Dean's. When Dean remained silent, Sam gave his elbow a nudge.

"Um, I have something I need to tell you," Dean finally said, "and I don't think you're gonna like it."

The anxious feeling twisted like snakes in Castiel's midsection. "What is it?"

Dean seemed to be struggling to find the words. "Okay, so... You know how when I was little and you saved me from that pond?" His eyes flicked up to catch Castiel's for just an instant before dropping again. "You shouldn't have had to do that."

Looking again at Sam, then back to Dean, Castiel waited for any of this to start making sense.

"If I needed help, I was supposed to ask, but I forgot. I was little, and I was scared. Gabriel should have been the one to save me." He paused, then mumbled, "Our family's angel."

Castiel stared at Dean blankly. The guilt coming off him all but scalded Castiel's skin, yet a shiver made its way down his spine.

Dean looked up then, eyes pleading. "I'm sorry, Cas, I didn't mean for it to be a secret from you – it wasn't on purpose, I swear. My dad- He blamed Gabriel after my mom died and banished him from us. I haven't seen him since I was five years old, and I thought I'd never see him ever again."

The bitter cold crept in and settled in the marrow of Castiel's bones. "An angel."

Dean nodded.

"You have an _angel?_ " Castiel spat.

"We _did_ ," Sam interjected. "But it was so long ago, I never even met him. That's why Dean never mentioned it."

"So why are you telling me now?"

Dean paled and dropped his gaze back to the rocks and snow at his feet. "Bobby and Joshua... think they can get Gabriel back."

Everything went very still. Even the icy water of the river seemed to run calm and quiet.

Castiel forced himself to ask, "Do you want him back?"

The guilt and fear thickened the air until Castiel nearly gagged on it.

Dean swallowed hard. "Yes."

Castiel closed his eyes. Heat flooded his cheeks and burned the backs of his eyes, even as his bones went brittle from the cold. His chest squeezed down until he could feel each beat of his heart crack against his ribs.

It felt like the deepest kind of betrayal. He'd thought Dean and Sam were his friends. He'd believed they felt the same, but he must have been wrong. They knew that if an angel were to catch him, it would mean his death, yet they wished to bring one into their lives. The angel bound to their guardian Bobby was old and easily avoided. But a second angel, a younger angel, would be far more dangerous. Deadly. And one bound to them? Castiel couldn't risk it.

"I see," he whispered, managing not to choke on the words.

Dean took a halting step toward him. "Cas, please understand. He was family to me, back before everything got bad. If they can break the banishment, then yes, I want him back."

Castiel nodded stiffly. "I understand."

"You do?" Dean's fear melted, and the hope and happiness that began to swell in its place cut Castiel like broken glass.

"I do. If this angel is so important to you, I understand why you would prefer to have him over me."

"What?" Dean yelped. "No!"

Sam piped up then, raising a hand. "Whoa, Cas, that's not what he means!"

Castiel turned his eyes to the younger Winchester. "Whether it was or not, that's still the result. I cannot be with you if you have an angel bound to you. It's too dangerous."

"But, Cas," Dean pleaded, taking another step and reaching out, "we can make it work, I swear."

"How, Dean?" Castiel snapped, jerking away from him. "With two angels around, one of whom is _bound to your blood_ , how can I possibly escape notice?"

"Well... what if we explain it to them?" Dean suggested desperately. "What if we just tell them who you are, and then you won't need to hide anymore."

Castiel growled, his already fluffed feathers going spiky in his anger. "Do not forget how I came to be here, Dean. I was abducted, torn from my home by an angel who then _killed_ my mother. I was nearly killed by another angel, and now you wish to reveal my existence to yet _another_ angel?"

"Cas-"

"No!" Castiel bellowed and arched his wings in full display. His body shook, though not from the cold. "If you want your angel, then fine. Keep it. But leave me out of it."

With a mighty rush of his wings, Castiel took off from the river's edge, his thoughts and emotions spinning through his head. An angel. They had an _angel!_ And they wanted it to stay. He gasped for air around the crushing pain in his chest.

Unable to maintain his wild flight, he landed without a thought to where he was.

A scream pierced the air the moment he appeared. He flinched, searching for the source.

"Diablo! Diablo!" A shrieking young woman in a bikini was scrambling away from him crab-style, making very little progress due to the loose sand of the beach where Castiel found himself. Limbs flailing, she managed to get to her feet and run.

Hot fear shot through him. People. There were people scattered all along the beach – lounging, walking dogs, playing in the sand – but now they were panicking, believing him to be a demon.

Something struck his shoulder from behind, and he was knocked to the ground. As he fell, he tucked into a roll to get some space between himself and his attacker. He found his feet again just in time to see a second angel joining the one who'd nearly tackled him.

"Muera, demonio," the second angel snarled, as the first angel lunged forward, brandishing its blade.

Castiel dodged, but his movements were sluggish. He avoided the blade, but only because the other angel was hindered by the sand as well. He aimed a kick at its knee as it went past, sending the angel to the ground with a howl. And with all his remaining strength, Castiel shoved past the second angel and launched himself into flight.

He flew harder and faster than he'd ever done before. When he was certain he wasn't being followed, he slowed, but didn't stop. The adrenaline coursing through his blood wouldn't let him.

Castiel flew until he couldn't anymore. He carefully checked his landing site to make sure it was clear before actually touching down in a thick copse of trees and collapsing, exhausted, at the base of an old live oak. His wings lay limp and trembling, sprawled out to his sides.

Careless. His distress had made him careless, and it had nearly cost him his life.

Leaning his head back against the mossy bark, Castiel closed his eyes and concentrated on catching his breath and calming the shaking in his limbs.

Eventually, his thoughts returned to Dean and Sam. Castiel had spent so many years alone and lonely, but back then it was simply his reality. He'd not known any other way to be. Now that he'd met Sam and Dean and experienced their friendship over the last few years, he wasn't sure he could bear to go back to a life of solitude.

But he had no choice. They'd chosen an angel over him, and much as they claimed they wanted both, it couldn't be that way. It was far too dangerous. Angels meant death, and Castiel didn't want to die.

Suddenly, he became aware of a feeling that wasn't his own – a desperate, aching longing that pulled and pulled at his heart.

Dean.

He clenched his jaw and tried to ignore it. Sooner or later, Dean would have his angel back and forget about Castiel. Eventually these feelings would stop.

Castiel just needed to wait it out.


	31. Chapter 31

**Special thanks to Papa Cinch for car suggestions.**

* * *

**May 11, 1997**

Dean let go of the wheel with one hand to reach over and smack the foot that Sam had propped up on the dashboard. "No feet on the dash, Sammy, or I swear I'm gonna start breaking toes."

Sam rolled his eyes, but removed his foot. "Sure you will. And it's Sam."

"Yeah, whatever. You'll always be my widdle bwuddoh Sammy," Dean teased. Although, with how tall Sam had gotten over the last six months, it wouldn't be long before he wouldn't be able to use the dash as a footrest because his legs would be too dang long.

"So whatever happened with that Rhonda girl in your English class?" Sam changed the subject with a sly look.

"Rhonda Hurley?"

Another eye roll punctuated Sam's answer. "Of course Rhonda Hurley. Is there some other Rhonda you've been slobbering on at school that I don't know about?"

Dean shrugged, trying for nonchalant. "We went out a couple times."

"And?" Sam prompted.

"And nothing. We went out a couple times." Dean could feel his cheeks heating up despite his best efforts to stay cool.

"You went out. That's it?"

"That's it."

Sam squinted at him suspiciously, but then his eyes went wide. "Holy crap."

The blush got worse, creeping up Dean's neck. "None of your business, _Sammy_."

"Dude, really?"

"Heyyy, guess what," Dean interrupted loudly in a desperate attempt to force the conversation to a new topic. There was no way in _hell_ he was talking with Sam about the things he'd been doing with Rhonda, not even under threat of torture. "Looks like I'm actually going to graduate, surprise, surprise."

Yet another eye roll. Since when did he have a teenage sister instead of a brother? "Dean, the only person that's surprised about that is you."

Dean snorted. "Sure. Because everyone knows I'm such a genius."

All hints of teasing gone, Sam hooked an elbow over the back of the bench seat and twisted to face him. "Why do you do that, Dean? It's not like you're dumb, you know. You're smart. You could go to college if you wanted."

Dean stepped down on the gas as they started up a long hill. "Maybe I don't want to."

"It's fine if you don't. But if you're not doing it because you think you can't, then you're an idiot," Sam grumbled.

"Self-fulfilling prophecy, then."

Sam grunted his frustration. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Dean conceded. "But I don't need to go off to college, Sammy. I like working at the garage, and I don't want to leave Bobby high and dry at the yard, either."

"He's feeling pretty crappy lately, isn't he?"

Dean pressed his lips together tightly and nodded. Bobby's weak heart made it difficult for him to work like he used to.

"And you're picking up the slack," Sam said.

Dean shrugged.

Sam sighed. "The only reason you're falling behind in school is because you're working instead of studying. And there's nothing wrong with that," he said, leaning out far enough for Dean to get the full force of his puppy dog eyes, even without taking his own eyes off the road. "I just wish you'd quit thinking it's because you aren't smart enough."

" _Fine_ , Sammy, whatever. I'm brilliant. Total supergenius. Happy?"

"Just...try, Dean. Okay?"

"Okay, okay. Jeez."

They rode in silence for several more miles. Dean sneaked a glance over at his little brother with a half hearted scowl. The kid was too damn smart sometimes and definitely way too stubborn. He was right. Dean had been working more and more, helping Bobby keep the salvage yard under control, without reducing his hours at the garage. Studying had been low on his priority list the last few months.

But then Dean smothered a smile. A good chunk of his time had also been used for Sam's benefit, though he didn't know it yet. Dean had found a '66 Pontiac GTO Coupe for a decent price. It needed a ton of body work, but the frame was in good shape and the engine wouldn't take too much work to restore.

Benny, his boss at the garage, was allowing him to use the tools and equipment there to restore the car after hours whenever Benny stayed late, which was usually a few times a week. It was still two whole years before Sam's sixteenth birthday, but it would probably take Dean that long to scrounge enough money for the parts and find time to do the work. It was gonna be totally worth it, though, even if it meant he almost didn't graduate.

"I think they're getting close," Sam said.

"Huh?" Dean realized Sam had been talking to him for a while, but he'd been lost in his thoughts about the car.

"Bobby and Joshua. I heard them talking last night, and it sounded like they're really close to being able to break Gabriel's banishment."

"Really?"

Sam nodded. "They're trying not to get our hopes up, though, in case it doesn't happen as soon they think."

"Holy crap." A nervous flutter jumped to life in Dean's stomach. The longer the research dragged on, the more anxious he got about seeing Gabriel again. "Do you think, like, _soon_ soon?"

"I don't know, but it sounded like they finally got an actual lead on where to find that Barnes woman that did the original banishing. Once they talk to her, they should have everything they need to get Gabriel back." Sam paused for a second, then added quietly, "Do you think he'll like me?"

Dean reached a hand over to ruffle Sam's hippie hair. "Of course he will, midget. Why wouldn't he?"

Ducking out from under Dean's hand, Sam combed his fingers through his hair to straighten it back out. "I don't know. I guess I'm just kinda nervous. I'm just gonna be some kid to him. It's not like he has anything to remember about me like he does with you."

"I don't think that's going to matter one bit. I wouldn't worry if I were you, Sammy."

"It's _Sam_."

They reached their turn off, and Dean rolled the car to a stop in his usual spot. He pulled his bag from the backseat before they cut off through the trees. Dean and Sam came every week to spend their Sunday afternoons here by the river. High water had shifted their log downstream earlier in the spring, but they still came to the same place anyway.

As they made their way through the trees, a flicker of hope kindled inside of Dean as it did every week. Maybe Cas would be there this time. Maybe this would be the day he came back.

But as their spot came into view, that little flame was doused once more. He wasn't there.

Dean only realized he'd stopped walking when Sam turned around and came back for him. "Dean? Are you okay?"

Forcing out a half-smile, Dean replied, "Sure. I'm fine."

The brothers unpacked their lunch – leftover fried chicken and coleslaw – and ate enough to satisfy a small army. Sam wandered down the bank while Dean got settled in with his English homework. _To Kill a Mockingbird_. He was halfway through it and had been surprised to discover it was actually really good, unlike that boring-ass _Great Expectations_ they'd made them read last semester.

Sam wandered back a good half hour later and sat down beside Dean. He had his own backpack with him, but instead of doing any homework, he just watched the water with a bit of a frown.

"Why do we keep coming out here, Dean?"

"What're you talking about? We have to be here if Cas shows up."

Sam kept looking out over the water. "What if he doesn't, though?"

Anger flared in Dean's belly. "He will."

Turning his sad hazel eyes on Dean, Sam said gently, "It's been six months, Dean. I don't think he's going to."

" _You're_ the one who said he wouldn't be mad," Dean barked, loud enough to send a flock of starlings in a nearby tree into a tizzy. " _You're_ the one who said I should tell him about Gabriel. You can't just tell me he's not coming back, Sam. That's not fair!"

"I know, Dean, and I'm sorry. But I was wrong." Sam got to his feet and picked up his bag. "I'll be in the car whenever you're ready to leave." He turned and trudged back up to disappear through the trees.

Dean stared after him. It hurt so much to think Cas could be gone for good, and each week that he didn't show made it hurt that much more. He didn't want to believe it. Why did he have to choose between Gabriel and Cas? It was so unfair and completely stupid. He was sure Cas would be safe – that Gabriel wouldn't try to hurt him. At least, he was fairly sure. Mostly.

What if he never saw Cas again?

He couldn't bring himself to continue reading. Instead he stayed on the riverbank, watching the rippling water until hunger eventually drove him to go home.

* * *

**_To Kill a Mockingbird_ is by Harper Lee.**

**_Great Expectations_ is by Charles Dickens.**


	32. Chapter 32

**June 20, 1997**

Dean's hands were sweating on the wheel, and the lurching in his stomach was way too aggressive to be described as butterflies. He couldn't believe the day had finally come. Bobby and Joshua had found Pamela Barnes, and in just a few hours, they were going to try breaking Gabriel's banishment.

Sam fidgeted in the passenger seat, his knee bouncing like a jackhammer. Every now and again he would scratch his nose or run his hand through his hair or tap his fingers on his leg, utterly unable to sit still. It was making Dean a little bit crazy.

They pulled in to the small parking lot where Bobby and Joshua were already speaking with Pamela, who was twisting her dark hair into a knot at the back of her neck. After the brothers joined them, the group made its way inside. Public binding rooms could be elaborate or barren, and this one was more sparse than most, though it was obviously well tended. The wooden floors gleamed in the late sunlight streaming through the high windows, and the silver sigils and devil's trap inlay surrounding the central altar were beautifully polished.

Sitting on the built in benches that lined the walls of the room, Dean and Sam kept out of the way as the other three prepared the space for the spell. As they waited, Dean began gnawing his thumbnail, which he hadn't done in years. He knew how the ritual would go – they'd all reviewed it with Pamela multiple times in the last few days before the full moon. Still, his thumbnail was bitten to the quick.

After everything was in place, Bobby and Joshua sat down to rest, and Pamela wandered over to Dean.

With a small smile, she said, "So. How're you doing?"

"Fine, I guess?"

"Look," she said, leaning closer and lowering her voice. "I've been meaning to say I'm sorry for what I did back when you were a kid. Your dad's a relentless son of a bitch when he wants something, and I let him talk me into banishing your angel. It never sat right with me in the years since, and quite frankly, I'm glad I'm getting the chance to try and fix it."

"Was," Dean corrected.

Her eyebrows raised in question. "What?"

"My dad _was_ a son of a bitch."

"Oh." Pamela's expression fell into one of embarrassment. "I didn't realize."

"Not your fault." Dean shrugged, but gave her a half smile. "Thanks for helping us get Gabriel back."

Pamela's smile revealed a fine web of crow's feet at the corners of her clear, green eyes. "You're welcome, kid. I hope to hell this works."

The remaining time passed quietly, other than the sounds of nervous fidgeting. When twilight came, Bobby and Pamela went around the room lighting all the candles in the numerous wall sconces, adding to the faint light of the full moon that fell through the windows. Pamela obsessively checked her watch until, finally, it was time.

"Okay, folks," she announced. "It's showtime."

They gathered around the central altar. Pamela closed her eyes and began reciting the spell in some unfamiliar language – Enochian, Dean thought, but he'd never asked. Bobby and Joshua stood on either side, adding ingredients to the basin in the altar as they were needed.

Energy built up, crackling in the air and making Dean's skin itch. He watched Pamela intently, waiting for his part in the ritual.

One thing Dean remembered clearly from their first encounter all those years ago was the creepy way her eyes went white as she cast the banishing spell. He'd often wondered if it was just a trick of his memory, but as she moved on to the next part of the spell, she opened her eyes, and they were pure white. A shiver ran down Dean's spine.

Pamela's chanting grew louder, and the power sizzling in the air made all the hair on Dean's arms and the back of his neck stand up. Finally, she held a hand out to Dean. He stepped up to the altar and placed his hand in hers, palm up. He hissed as she made a quick slice at the edge of his palm with her knife. A few drops of blood fell into the basin to mix with the other ingredients before she released him. He recited his carefully memorized incantation before stepping back out of the way. She followed the same procedure with Sam, adding his blood and incantation to the mix as well.

Striking a match, Pamela spoke the last lines of the spell in a ringing voice and set the contents of the basin alight. Flames burst up, flaring bright and hot, momentarily blinding Dean.

As the flames died back, the energy in the room dissipated. Out of breath, Pamela slumped forward, catching herself on the edge of the altar. She blinked repeatedly, and her eyes returned to normal.

Dean looked around the room anxiously as his eyes readjusted to the dimness. "Is it done? How do we know if it worked?"

With a tired smile, Pam said, "Pray."

Right. Of course. Dean closed his eyes and took a quaking breath. _Gabriel? Can you hear me? Gabriel, it's Dean._

Silence.

He looked around again, his stomach clenching when he saw no sign of the angel. _Gabriel? Please hear me! Please, please come home._

Dean turned to Pamela frantically. "It didn't work. Why didn't it work?"

She pursed her lips and frowned. "I'm not sure. It's not like this gets done every day, you know. Sam, why don't you give it a try?"

No more than two seconds after Sam closed his eyes, Gabriel appeared in a rush.

Dean's heart hammered in his chest. The angel stood frozen to the place he'd landed, staring at Sam in shock with his one wide, honey colored eye. Memories flooded Dean's mind, triggered by the face he'd been missing for so long.

Gabriel was home.

"Sam?" Gabriel whispered. "Is that you?"

Equally stunned and staring back at him, Sam nodded mutely.

Gabriel's face crumpled as he rushed forward to embrace Sam, a rough sob tearing its way out of him. They stumbled to their knees as Sam returned the hug, clinging to the angel.

"Sammy, I can't believe it," Gabriel cried, tears streaming down his cheek. He pushed away and caught Sam's face between his hands, his eye roving over him in disbelief. "How did this happen? Where's-"

He went utterly still as his gaze fell on Dean standing a few feet away. Half a dozen emotions flowed over Gabriel's face as he stared.

"-Dean," he breathed. Gabriel tilted his head to the side, confused. "Dean?"

Swallowing hard, Dean nodded and croaked, "Um, hi."

His stomach dropped sickeningly when Gabriel's only reaction was to frown harder. The angel seemed baffled by him, or worse, disapproving. But then Gabriel broke into a tentative smile. "Hey, kiddo. Long time no see, huh?"

Dean hesitated. Why was Gabriel acting so strangely?

But then Gabriel reached out, beckoning to him. "Get over here, squirt, so I can hug the stuffing out of you, too."

In a daze, Dean went over and dropped to his knees, allowing Gabriel to pull him in tightly. Dean wrapped his arms around Gabriel and his brother in a clumsy three-way hug, hardly daring to believe it was real. Against his cheek, he felt the tickle of Gabriel's halo just as he remembered from his childhood, and the familiar sensation instantly opened up the waterworks. Embarrassed, Dean buried his face in the angel's shoulder and let his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt soak up his tears.

"I missed you," he choked out between muffled sobs.

"I missed you, too, Dean-o," Gabriel answered, his voice rough and wavering. "Both of you. So much."

Eventually, the soggy hug ended, and the three of them climbed to their feet. Dean was shocked to realize he was taller than the angel. Even Sam was nearly as tall. He'd never realized that Gabriel was so short.

Around the room, the other three were watching the reunion quietly. Joshua stood with a hand on Bobby's shoulder, and both of them had wet, shining eyes. Tears rolled freely down Pamela's cheeks, though the only sound she made was an occasional sniffle. When the hug broke up, Bobby and Joshua went up to welcome Gabriel back.

But afterward, Gabriel started doing it again – looking at Dean intently, as if trying to sort out a puzzle. Dean's stomach fluttered. Something was wrong. "Um, Gabriel?"

The angel approached, still staring Dean down, and reached out to gently cradle his cheek. "Dean... I don't know why, but I can't feel you," he muttered. Behind him, Joshua inhaled sharply, bringing a hand to his mouth.

"What?" Dean frowned, lost.

"The bond was severed. I'm cut off." His scarred face twisted in grief.

For a moment, the words wouldn't process in Dean's mind. They made no sense. When angels were bound, they were bound to the bloodline for life. How could he be cut off?

Joshua clutched harder at Bobby's shoulder and made a soft keening sound. "Gabriel..."

But Gabriel turned to Pamela. "You're the one who did this?"

Pam shrank into herself a little. "Yes?"

"How did this happen?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "I don't know. All I can think is that maybe it was because Dean's blood was used for the original spell. Your banishment from the Campbell bloodline _is_ broken now...except for Dean."

Gabriel's voice trembled. "It's permanent?"

"I've done everything I know to do, so as far as I know," Pamela shrugged her shoulders helplessly, "yes."

"What does this mean?" Dean asked, desperate to understand what was happening, because it couldn't possibly be what it sounded like.

When he turned back to Dean, Gabriel appeared utterly broken – small and vulnerable. "It means I can't sense you or heal you or hear your prayers." He reached up to cup the side of Dean's neck. "It means I'm not your angel anymore."

His composure crumbling, Gabriel grabbed him in a crushing hug, his body shaking with sobs. Dean hugged back, clutching at the angel's hibiscus flowers and hula girls. Over Gabriel's shoulder, he saw Bobby leading Pamela out, murmuring to her in a low voice Dean couldn't hear.

"Wait!" Dean cried, disentangling himself from Gabriel and chasing down Pamela before she was gone for good. "You can't leave it like this. You have to fix it."

"Dean, I'm so sorry, sugar." Pamela's face was full of sympathy and regret. "There's nothing more I can do."

"But it's not right. It's not fair!" Dean exclaimed desperately.

Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder and gave a squeeze. "You know better than most that life ain't fair, son. We'll keep looking for a way to change this, but you might have to learn to accept it."

"No!" Dean shook off Bobby's hand. "This is bullshit!"

"Dean-" Gabriel began, but Dean turned and stormed from the binding room.

There really wasn't anywhere to go but the parking lot or the gardens behind the secluded building. He chose the parking lot. Sitting behind the wheel of the Impala with the door wide open, Dean tried to get ahold of himself. After the months of anticipation and waiting and stress, he felt like everything was falling apart.

"Dean?"

He opened his eyes to find Sam watching him over the gap between the windshield and the open door. He grunted a reply.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

Dean gave his brother a scathing look.

"Will you _be_ okay?" Sam amended.

With a bitter sigh, Dean shrugged. "Don't have much choice, do I?"

"You know it won't be like before, right? Like when he was banished? Gabriel is here now. He'll still be a huge part of your life. He just...can't heal you is all." Sam's reassurances didn't help much.

"It's not the same, Sam. It's not even really about that. I just..." He trailed off and shook his head.

Sam came around the door to crouch down next to Dean. "It's Castiel, isn't it? We lost him over this, and now you feel like you've lost Gabriel, too."

Tears burned the backs of Dean's eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

"You haven't lost Gabriel, though," Sam said, putting a hand on Dean's arm to drive his point home. "And he needs you right now, as much as you need him. Go talk to him, okay?"

Dean gave Sam a bit of a side-eye. Sometimes it was freaky how well Sam could read him.

"Fine," he grudgingly agreed.

Returning to the binding room, he saw Bobby cleaning up the remnants of their spell. Joshua was seated on a bench with an arm around Gabriel who had his head in his hands, his fingers buried in his sandy hair. Joshua looked up when Dean walked in and murmured something to Gabriel who raised his head.

Dean nodded to Joshua as the angel stood and went to help Bobby with the clean up. He sat down beside Gabriel.

"Hey," he said softly.

Gabriel gave a watery smile. "Hey, kiddo."

"Sorry I flipped out there. I just... didn't see this coming, I guess."

"Neither did I. None of it." Gabriel turned to meet Dean's eyes. "But you know what? Even with the broken bond, I'm so _damn_ happy to see you, kid."

"Me, too." Stupid tears welled up again. "Welcome home, Gabriel."

The angel wrapped his arms around him and hugged hard enough to make him grunt. When he let go, he briefly squeezed Dean's hand before standing up. Dean looked down to find a Tootsie Roll tucked into his palm. He grinned up at Gabriel who smiled back, a little bittersweet.

"It's good to be home."


	33. Chapter 33

**May 2, 1999**

An enormous yawn made Dean's jaw click as he gathered up his books and jacket and waited for Cassie to finish chatting with her friend. The yawn morphed into a dopey grin as he watched her. He'd been seeing Cassie Robinson for a little over two months now, and sometimes he still couldn't believe that someone that smart and that _hot_ was interested in him.

He also couldn't believe he was actually here taking business classes at Kilian. Even two years ago he'd have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested he'd be at a community college. But as Bobby's health continued to decline, Dean was taking on more and more of the responsibility of running Singer Salvage. Sam had convinced him to give these classes a go – if nothing else, it would help him keep from screwing up Bobby's business.

At first he'd been skeptical, but now he was glad Sam had pushed him. Otherwise he'd never have met Cassie. And he supposed the classes were okay, too.

She bid her friend goodbye and turned back to Dean with a bright smile that put a sparkle in her deep brown eyes. Putting a hand on his chest, she leaned up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his lips, and he slid his fingers up into her mane of dark curls to deepen it. When she finally pulled back, she looked up at him from under coy lashes.

"Ready to go?" she asked, lacing her fingers with his.

"Hey, I've been waiting on you, lady."

Indignant, she demanded, "Are you calling me slow?"

"Who me?" He pulled his most innocent face – the one he'd stolen from Sammy.

"I'm not slow, jerk!" she insisted, trying to look stern, but spoiling it when a smile slipped out.

"I didn't say you were," he said. "But if you ever need an outlaw name, it could be Pokey Joe. You and Shannon could be Pokey Joe and the Molassas Kid."

Cassie shook her head and gave him a mock dirty look. "You're an ass."

"I _have_ always said you have an adorable ass." He chuckled, pleased with himself.

Rolling her eyes, she scooped up her purse and books. "Ugh. You're fired."

"What? I'm hilarious."

They left the building and walked out to the Impala. Cassie smacked his hand away from the door handle like she always did whenever he tried to open the car door for her. They climbed in, and Dean started the engine with a satisfying roar. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into Cassie's apartment complex.

She scooted across the seat for a quick goodbye make-out session. Then she gathered up her things and slid out the door. "Tell Sam happy birthday from me, okay, babe?"

Dean gave a mock salute. "Will do!"

"See you tomorrow," she said before closing the door.

Dean watched her make her way in to her building, partly to make sure she got in okay, but mostly just to watch her ass as she walked away. When she reached the door, Cassie turned to give him a little finger wave before ducking inside.

How had he gotten so lucky? This girl was way too good for him, but she seemed to like him anyway. Karma must've decided he'd done something right somewhere along the line.

He left Cassie's place and headed home. Sam had insisted Dean not skip work or classes, so they'd decided to do a birthday dinner, just the two of them, but first Dean would finally get to give Sam the gift he'd been working his ass off on for the last two years. He was dying to see the look on Sam's face when he saw the car, but his anticipatory grin was interrupted by another yawn. Between work and school and fixing up the GTO, Dean was wiped out.

Sam must have been watching for him. He barreled out of the house as soon as Dean rolled in, all legs and elbows everywhere. He piled into the car, folding all those gangly limbs away somehow.

If Sam ended up taller than him, Dean was going to be super pissed.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam greeted him with a grin.

"Happy birthday, Sammy!" Dean reached over to ruffle his hair since Sam hated it so much. "From Cassie, too. She said to tell you."

"Thanks. And tell Cassie thanks, too," he said with a wrinkled nose as he straightened out his hair again. "And it's Sam."

"Soooo, I had your present, but I left it at the garage. Mind if we stop by there before we go eat?" Dean asked, giving the innocent face another go.

"Sure, that's cool."

A few minutes later, they pulled into the garage's lot. Dean's boss Benny was still there in the office and gave them a wave as they came in.

"Good to see you, Sam," Benny said with a lazy grin to match his lazy Louisiana drawl. "I hear it's your birthday, brother."

Sam gave an embarrassed shrug. "Yeah."

"I believe Dean has a gift for you here, don't you?"

"Yep. It's in here, Sammy," Dean pushed open the door leading to the bays and flipped on the overhead lights.

The '66 Pontiac GTO Coupe gleamed under the blazing fluorescents, her paint job glossy and beautiful. Dean had deliberated over paint colors for months before choosing a deep red. Not a flashy red, but a dark, moody color that you could get lost in, it was so rich.

Sam looked at the car and blinked, then looked at Dean, then back to the car. When he looked back again, Dean held up the keys and offered them to his brother.

"Happy birthday, Sammy," he said.

Sam's mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. He stared at the car some more, then finally turned to Dean, his face a mask of disbelief. "How?"

With a smirk, Dean picked up Sam's hand and folded it around the keys. "It's no big deal. I got it a long time ago and have been fixing it up."

"Make no mistake," Benny interjected. "That brother of yours has been working his derriere off, restoring it from the ground up. And a damn fine job of it he did, too."

Dean flushed at the praise. If he never did anything else worthwhile in his life, he would always be damn proud of that car.

"Holy shit, Dean. I don't even know what to say," Sam told him, staring down at the keys in his hand.

"How about, 'Come on, Dean, let's take it out for a spin!' for starters?"

Sam looked up with bright, shining eyes and a face-splitting grin. Dean had never been so happy to be a big brother in his life.

As Sam climbed reverently behind the wheel, Dean thanked Benny one last time for all his help in getting the project done. Benny opened the bay door, and after Dean settled in to the passenger seat, Sam drove his ridiculously awesome new car out into the street.

At first Sam was extremely cautious. Bobby had taken him to get his license earlier in the day, but this was an unfamiliar car with a powerful engine. He drove around for a while, delighting in the wake of turned heads they left behind. Then Dean encouraged him to leave the city limits and head out onto roads that weren't so busy so he could really open her up and see what she had in her.

Sam whooped and howled as he tore down the straight stretches on the empty back roads. He was even gracious enough to let Dean drive a little, too.

Eventually, hunger led them back into town. They headed for Sam's favorite pizza place that had repulsive toppings like artichoke hearts and spinach. But Dean was willing to sacrifice to make Sam's birthday special.

While they were stopped at a red light, Sam turned to Dean with one of those super mushy afterschool special looks on his face. "Thank you so much, Dean. The car is so _frickin_ sweet, but I don't mean just that. All the time and work you must have put into it? It really means a lot to me."

"You're welcome, dude," Dean replied, even though the touchy feelies were making his skin itch. "Light's green. We getting pizza or what?"

Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes at Dean's aversion to talking about feelings, but stepped on the gas.

Pain.

Jarring pain and the screaming of metal on metal followed by the musical tinkling of shattered glass.

Dean forced his eyes open, squinting into the confusing swirl of color and lights. The lines of the car around him bent at strange angles, and he wasn't sure if he was seeing things or if that's how they really were.

"Sammy?" he rasped. The first things he saw when he looked over were blood on the spiderwebbed cracks of the driver's side window and Sam slumped against it. Panic forced its way into his muddled thoughts, and he scrambled to untangle himself and get to Sam. He gasped as a searing pain shot through his knee, but he ignored it the best he could. "Sammy, talk to me!"

"Dean!" The ragged shout came from outside the car.

He looked through the passenger window to see Castiel frantically trying to open the door, but it was jammed. Shit, maybe he was seeing things after all. The last time he'd seen Cas was almost two years ago by the river. "Cas?" he croaked.

"Sam!"

This cry came from the other side. Through the crunched driver's side window, Dean saw Gabriel wrenching at the door, trying to force it open to get to Sam.

"Oh, fuck." Dean could only watch helplessly as Cas and Gabriel came face to face for the first time.

When their eyes met, Castiel immediately dropped into a defensive crouch, whipping his silver blade from its sheath. His wings opened to their full, impressive span, the feathers bristling up aggressively. "Angel," he hissed.

Gabriel jerked back from the door at the display, drawing his own blade. "Holy buckets!" he squawked in surprise.

"No!" Dean shouted, renewing his fight to free himself from the car. "No, don't!"

But Castiel edged around to the front of the car and growled at Gabriel – actually growled. Dean had never heard him do it before, and if it had been directed at him, he'd have been hard pressed not to piss himself.

"Cas, stop! This is Gabriel," Dean cried, terrified he wouldn't be able to stop this from turning bloody. "He's just here to help Sam. Please! Castiel!"

The next few seconds seemed to last an eternity as he was forced to watch and wait to see whether one or both of his friends would end up injured or dead. In those endless moments, Dean registered that there were other people in the street, some screaming, some shouting into phones, and others running either toward the wreck or away from it. A siren wailed in the distance.

Castiel's eyes left Gabriel for a flickering moment. He looked at Dean, pinned in the car, and Sam, bleeding and unconscious. He drew his wings in a little, though his feathers and posture still bristled with hostility. With one last growl at Gabriel, Cas vanished.

Gabriel stayed frozen to the spot for an instant longer, before sheathing his blade and resuming his desperate efforts to reach Sam. A cop car arrived, and a uniformed officer appeared with his Maglight in hand, using the butt of it to break through the side window enough for Gabriel to reach inside. His palm cupped Sam's cheek, slipping a little in the blood pouring in sheets from the small cuts on his forehead and scalp.

Just like when Joshua had healed Bobby, Dean felt nothing. No humming energy beneath his skin. No warmth. No connection with the angel at all.

It seemed to take forever, but at last, Sam took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean cried, stretching across to grab Sam's hand despite the pain in his knee.

Gabriel pulled his arm back through the hole in the glass, clamping his other hand down on the cuts he'd gotten on the way. "He'll be all right," the angel said, before backing away to let the emergency responders get to work extricating the brothers from the wreckage. But he didn't take his blazing eye off Dean the whole time.

"Dean?" Sam slurred.

"Hey, bro, just relax. You're okay." He gave Sam's hand a squeeze as additional reassurance and as a distraction from the upsetting shriek of metal. "Everything's gonna be fine."


	34. Chapter 34

**November 3, 1996 – May 2, 1999**

In the weeks after Castiel left the Winchesters on the riverbank, the ache of Dean's longing and loneliness didn't fade no matter how far away Castiel flew from Sioux Falls. The profound emotional bond he had with Dean that he used to treasure had become a source of torture rather than one of comfort. Other feelings came and went like tides, but all of it was underscored by the terrible yearning. Eventually it was all Castiel could feel. Everything else dissolved into a buzzing white noise.

For a while, his anger with the brothers was enough to distract him. But eventually, the anger faded, and he was left with not only Dean's overwhelming feelings, but his own as well.

Loneliness ate away at him, bit by bit. He felt it in every muscle, every bone.

Eventually, it eroded his determination to avoid the Winchesters. Rationalizing it as a simple check to see how they were faring, Castiel went to the river one Sunday afternoon many weeks after he'd left them. He landed on the far side of the river, concealing himself in the trees. For all he knew, the brothers brought their angel here regularly. Or maybe they didn't come anymore at all.

He fluffed up his feathers and waited in the freezing cold for well over an hour before there was movement on the far bank.

Dean and Sam emerged from the trees, both carrying backpacks. Warmth suffused Castiel's body at the sight of them, so familiar as they got settled in to eat their lunch. There was no angel with them.

But then the warmth in his chest went frigid. Even if the angel didn't come here today, it could come at any time. And Dean had chosen that angel despite knowing it meant Castiel would leave. Hunching down, Castiel buried himself deeper into his feathery cocoon.

He shouldn't have come here. But he couldn't make himself leave.

For several hours, the Winchester brothers stayed on the icy river bank, reading and talking and arguing. Castiel was far enough away that he couldn't hear what they said over the sound of the water, but he could hear the cadence of their voices. The familiarity was soothing, but it hurt knowing he could never join them.

Castiel stayed at the river even after the brothers had packed up and disappeared through the trees. He stayed until he couldn't feel his fingers or his toes. Finally, he rose stiffly to his feet and flew away to somewhere warmer, but even after his tingling toes had warmed, the cold ache in his heart remained.

For months, he returned to the river on Sunday afternoons to watch Dean and Sam. Every Sunday they came. Every Sunday it hurt more to see them. Several times, he convinced himself not to go – not to put himself through it again. But he always caved at the last minute and returned to the river.

Once, in the spring, he saw what appeared to be a fight between the two boys. After that day, only Dean came.

Just after the peak of summer, Dean missed a day, and Castiel wondered if he'd been sick. But the following week, and all the weeks after, no one came at all. Castiel could have followed the subtle pull that would lead him to Dean, but he didn't dare. Too dangerous. Instead, he continued to go to the river every week through the fall and winter and yet another spring, hoping to catch sight of the Winchesters one more time, but he never did.

Occasionally, Castiel felt volatile emotion from one or both of the brothers, and the urge to go to them became nearly uncontrollable. But the very real threat of their angel kept him away. He wondered bitterly if angels even cared when their humans became distraught or if they were only there to heal injuries and kill demons. And steal demon children.

He wondered if Dean and Sam's angel was their friend. Dean had called it family. But did it feel the same way?

And he wondered if they'd forgotten about Castiel yet.

The empty, yearning ache still ate a hole in his chest, but he was no longer sure if it was Dean's or his own.

* * *

Nearly two years after he'd last exchanged words with the Winchester brothers, Castiel was perched comfortably in a tree by a lake shore watching the geese. There were fuzzy goslings toddling all around, following the adults as they swam, ate, and preened. Their antics were an excellent distraction and a balm to his loneliness.

By dusk, the birds had mostly retreated to the water to sleep with their beaks tucked beneath their wings. Castiel was considering moving on when a jolt of shock and pain nearly sent him toppling from his perch. Without thought, he launched himself into the air, racing to the source of the pain. Both Winchesters were injured, but he couldn't feel Sam anymore at all.

He landed amid scattered bits of smashed metal and shattered glass. A pickup appeared to have hit the side of a car. Both vehicles were severely damaged, but Castiel's only concern was for the two figures inside the car, only one of which was moving.

Dean's side of the vehicle had taken less damage, so Castiel ran to the door on that side. He yanked at the handle, but the metal frame was warped from the impact, and the door wouldn't budge.

"Dean!" he shouted, striking the window with his palm in frustration.

Turning toward him, Dean blinked in confusion. "Cas?" came his bleary reply.

Intent on getting into the car, Castiel mostly ignored the chaos of people running and shouting all around them. But when another figure appeared suddenly on the other side of the vehicle, adrenaline flooded hot through his veins.

"Sam!" cried the angel, wrenching at the driver's side door.

Castiel drew his blade and flared his wings. "Angel," he snarled, warning it off.

It looked up from the car door and stumbled back a step in surprise, belatedly drawing its blade. "Holy buckets!" it yelped.

The angel had been startled, giving Castiel a brief advantage. He growled and pressed forward, prepared to defend himself and the Winchesters, too, if needed.

"No! No, don't!" Dean shouted from within the vehicle.

By then, the angel had recovered itself enough to stand ready. Castiel growled again and glared, daring it to make the first move.

"Cas, stop!" Dean cried. "This is Gabriel. He's just here to help Sam. Please!"

Castiel hesitated. But then the angel made a minute shift in weight, and Castiel tensed, ready for its attack.

"Castiel!" Dean's desperate voice stopped him.

The interruption broke his focus on the angel and pulled his attention back to Dean – to his pain and his terror for Sam's life. Castiel suddenly realized that if this really was Sam and Dean's angel, and he stayed to square off against it, no one would heal either of the boys. Sam would die, and it would be Castiel's fault. He couldn't allow that to happen, not ever. So after one last growled threat, he fled.

Now their angel was free to heal them, and they would all go happily home together.

Before, Castiel had been protecting himself by staying away. But now he would be protecting the brothers, too. Never again, he decided with grim determination. No matter what he felt from them, he would never endanger either of the Winchesters like that again.


	35. Chapter 35

**May 2-3, 1999**

It seemed to take forever to extricate Dean and Sam from the wreck. Though they were careful, every time the emergency responders jostled the wreckage, it felt like someone stabbed Dean in the knee. Gabriel practically hopped from foot to foot as he waited, and the instant they pulled Dean from the car, Gabriel elbowed his way past the paramedics to confront him.

"What the shit, Dean?" he shouted, the unmarred skin on his face flushing red in contrast to his scars.

The paramedics pushed him back out of the way. "Sir, you need to give us room to work."

"Not right now, Gabriel," Dean pleaded. The secret was blown with the angel, but he couldn't talk about Cas in front of all these strangers. "I _swear_ I will tell you everything, but later, okay?"

Gabriel nodded and allowed the medics to move him aside, but he didn't look happy about it. His eye never left Dean once the whole time he was being examined.

"Do you have an angel on the way?" one paramedic asked.

Dean shook his head, flinching and sucking in a hissing breath as she gently palpated his knee. "I don't have one. The driver's my brother – half-brother – but Gabriel was his mom's angel," he improvised.

"Ah, I see," she said. Turning away, she called out, "We're taking him in." Another medic stepped up to help her move Dean to a gurney.

Dean hated the lie. It felt like he was disavowing his mom, but he didn't want to deal with the buttload of questions that would surely come if he gave the truth. This was easier. He looked again toward Gabriel, who was still watching him with a worried frown.

Finally, both Dean and Sam were taken to the hospital to be checked out, where it was determined that Dean had sprained his knee, not dislocated or broken it. The doctors told him there was a possibility he might need surgery if the ligaments were badly damaged, but that would be decided after the swelling had gone down enough to evaluate it properly.

Gabriel stayed right beside him through all the scans and pokes and prods. Nurses and technicians and doctors seemed to be everywhere, and there wasn't a moment alone to talk to the angel. Police came and got his and Sam's statements, even though they didn't have much to tell them. The light was green and then bam. That was pretty much it.

"And the demon?" The officer looked up from his notepad with his bushy eyebrows raised.

"Um. Demon?" Dean repeated stupidly. His belly did a flip, and he had to remind himself that Cas was long gone and perfectly safe. Presumably. It wasn't like he'd seen him in _two freaking years_.

"There was a demon?" Sam interjected, fear on his face. Dean realized his brother had been unconscious for Cas's appearance.

The officer explained, "Multiple witnesses said a demon materialized directly next to the accident site. Did you see it?"

What was Dean supposed to say to that? "Uh, yeah, maybe? I was pretty shaken up, though. I guess it must have left when it saw Gabriel?"

"Hm." The officer returned to chicken scratching at the notebook.

After the officer had finished asking questions and gone on his way, Gabriel swooped in.

"Okay, spill," he demanded in a fierce stage whisper. "That was your winged angel from the pond, wasn't it?"

" _What?_ " Sam yelped. "Cas was there?"

Gabriel turned his fiery glare on Sam. "You're in on this, too?" He threw his hands up in irritation and bellowed, "Somebody better tell me what I just saw out there, and right the hell now!"

"Holy crap, Gabriel, I'd freaking tell you if you'd just calm down!" Dean shouted.

"Whoa, rein it in, you idjits!" A new voice cut sharply through the room.

Everyone fell silent and turned to see that Bobby had arrived, looking even more annoyed than usual. He stabbed a finger in Dean's direction. "You. Are you all right?"

"Knee sprain. I'll be fine."

The finger zeroed in on Sam "And you?"

"I'm fine. Gabriel healed me."

"Well, okay, then," Bobby grunted with a satisfied nod. "Next time one of you jackasses gets in a wreck and doesn't call me _immediately,_ somebody is getting their ass kicked."

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean mumbled. Sam echoed him.

"Now what's all the ruckus about?"

Gabriel opened his big mouth then. "Dean's imaginary friend showed up and waved a knife at me!"

"Hey! You're the one who decided I was making things up. It's not my fault you didn't believe me," Dean sniped. Even though it was an ancient wound, it still hurt to poke it.

"Knock it off!" Bobby barked. "Dean. Start explaining."

Dean slumped back into his hospital bed with a heavy sigh. He'd never intended for any of them to find out about Cas, but the cat had long since slipped the bag, and now he had no choice.

"His name is Castiel. The first time I met him, I was four years old, and he saved me from drowning."

He went on to give them a brief history of their relationship with Cas, with Sam breaking in to add or change a detail now and then. It _sucked_. Recounting it just dredged up all kinds of crappy feelings. Seeing him today, even for a few seconds, had only made it worse.

"Even though we haven't seen him in forever, today he showed up just the same as you, Gabriel – to help us when we were hurt. But he doesn't trust angels – he can't. He's afraid of you, and I don't blame him for that. Angels see wings, they think demon, they attack. If he weren't so cautious, he'd probably have been killed a long time ago," Dean concluded.

Bobby eyed him thoughtfully and nodded. "And he's been AWOL?"

"For the last two years," Sam answered from his perch on the end of Dean's bed. "Ever since he found out we were going to get Gabriel back."

"I expect the only reason he showed up today was because Sammy was hurt so bad." Dean tried to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat and waved a hand at his braced and swollen knee. "I don't think he'd come just for this. And after today, he probably won't come at all anymore."

Sam reached out, putting a comforting hand on the ankle of his uninjured leg. Dean gave his brother a look of gratitude. Sammy at least understood.

Just then, a nurse came in with discharge papers, and not too long after that, Dean was free to go home.

Bobby left with Sam to drive back to the house. Gabriel stayed until all the i's were dotted, and when Dean was ready, he flew them directly to the living room where he got Dean settled in on the couch. Bobby and Sam hadn't made it back yet.

Gabriel looked out the window, keeping watch for Bobby's truck. "I'm sorry, Dean. For not believing you way back then."

A little twinge of guilt came alive in Dean's belly for having brought it up. "It's okay. I know how ridiculous it must have sounded, especially coming from a four-year-old."

"True. But I'm still sorry I hurt you," Gabriel said softly, his gaze still fixed outside. "I hurt you then, and I can't heal you now."

"That isn't your fault. And you saved Sammy. That's way more important than fixing my stupid knee."

Gabriel stirred from his spot by the window. "They're here."

Since it was ridiculously late, there was no more discussion of Castiel. Bobby went straight to bed, and Gabriel fussed over Dean, finding him pillows and bedding and bringing him water and snacks. Joshua was apparently off on a mission with his garrison, since he was nowhere to be seen.

Sam sat in the recliner beside the couch. They had the TV on, but kept the sound low, so as not to bother Bobby. Suddenly, Dean heard a tiny sniff and realized Sam was crying.

"Sammy? Hey, what's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry, Dean."

"What're you talking about?" Dean asked.

Losing his fight for control, Sam gulped air in hitching breaths. "The car! I had it for all of two hours before I totaled it. You worked so hard, and now it's wrecked, and you're hurt, and-"

"Sammy, no! It wasn't your fault," Dean reassured him, frustrated that he couldn't get up and go to him. "The guy that hit us was drunk as a skunk and ran the red. Of course it sucks that the car's wrecked, but it's just a car. And I'm fine, really. I'm just glad _you're_ okay. You scared the crap out of me, dude."

"I didn't mean to!" Sam wailed.

Gabriel bustled in from the kitchen and hurried to Sam's side, sitting on the arm of the recliner and putting an arm around him. "Hey, hey, what's going on in here?"

Sam just leaned into Gabriel and sniffled.

"Hey, kiddo, it's okay. Everything's okay." Gabriel let Sam cry himself out, talking soothingly the whole time. When Sam was done, the angel stood and guided him toward the stairs. "I'll just get Sam upstairs. I'm sure he'll feel better after some solid sleep. G'night, Dean."

Glad that someone was there to take care of Sammy since he couldn't, Dean smiled. "Night, Gabriel."

* * *

The next morning, the good drugs had worn off, and Dean's knee was super pissed off. Plus, he hadn't slept for shit. He'd been stuck on the couch all night, since the bathroom was downstairs, and he couldn't be trusted to navigate the stairs on crutches yet.

He hobbled into the kitchen to find Joshua and Bobby fixing eggs and toast.

"Sit. Food'll be up in a few."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean groaned as he eased himself down into one of the chairs at the table.

After pushing down the lever on the toaster, Joshua leaned back against the counter and addressed Dean. "Bobby filled me in on your...friend. I'm sorry you felt you needed to keep his existence a secret from us."

Dean grunted. "It wasn't my choice – it's for Cas's safety, and he didn't want you to know. I wouldn't have told _anyone_ if this hadn't happened."

"Still," Joshua continued, "I'm glad it's in the open now. You should know that neither Bobby nor I would have a problem with him if he wished to be here. He's proven himself to be a friend to you, and that's enough for us."

"Yeah, well, it's not up to me."

Bobby looked up from his egg skillet. "Next time you see him, though, you can let him know. Give him a chance to think it over."

Dean scowled at the brace on his knee. "Sure. Next time I see him." Which would be never.

Sam came in during that exchange, with Gabriel at his heels. His eyes were still a little swollen from crying last night, and he seemed to be going out of his way to avoid eye contact with anyone.

Gabriel told Dean, "That goes for me, too, you know. He's saved your asses enough, I'm more than happy to have him here as long as he doesn't try stabbing me again. Anybody bound to the line is family."

Joshua tipped his head and pursed his lips. "So how _was_ Castiel bound to your bloodline? Do you know?"

"Not for certain, but we've got some good guesses," Sam said, perking up a little at the question. "We know our grandfather Henry and his angel Hannah were killed back in the '50s in a demon attack. We also know Cas has been around way longer than us. The way we figure it, maybe Grandpa Henry and Hannah started a binding ritual to raise a new angel, but they got caught and killed before it was finished."

"I suppose that would follow," Joshua mused.

"If it's true, we don't actually know how Cas survived, since demons either take back their fledglings or kill them if the bond is completed." Sam shrugged. "He made it out somehow, though. We've never asked, and he doesn't talk about it."

Bobby pulled the skillet from the heat and turned off the burner. "So is he more angel or more demon?"

"There's definitely a halo – I saw it," Gabriel piped up. "And he's healed the kiddos several times, so I'd lean toward angel."

Sam shook his head. "He passes through angel warding – the best that Dad ever found. He's not an angel. And he doesn't hear prayers, either."

"And the wings are confusing, too," Gabriel added thoughtfully. "I wonder if it means he can't cross into the otherworld."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Well, you know we're anchored to both the earth and the ether – our wings are the link to the ether that allow us to cross the barrier," Gabriel explained.

Joshua said, "Right! His manifested wings might mean he's bound here permanently."

"So maybe he's more like a demon that's stuck on the wrong side of the wall?" Bobby suggested.

Dean listened to the discussion in silence, until he finally couldn't stand it anymore. "Who cares?" he snapped, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet...well, foot. "What difference does it make? It doesn't matter one damn bit what you call him – it doesn't change who he is. He's my friend, and that's all that's ever mattered to me. Just quit trying to stuff him in some convenient box already."

Snatching up his crutches, Dean hitched himself out of the kitchen and onto the porch. It made no sense for him to be this upset about something so dumb, but the way they'd been dissecting Cas's existence like some kind of scientific curiosity pissed him off. He settled himself into the battered old porch swing which creaked ominously as it took his weight.

Glaring out over the machinery and broken down wrecks of the scrap yard, Dean cursed himself for leaving the kitchen without breakfast or painkillers, but he'd be damned if he'd go back in there now.

A few minutes later, Sam peeked out the front door, then pushed it open with his shoulder as he carried a plate of eggs, toast, and ibuprofen out to Dean. He held a glass of water in his other hand.

"I thought you might still want some breakfast," he offered.

Dean accepted the food and the pills gratefully. "You're my favorite baby brother in the world, Sammy."

Sam made a wry face at the name.

"Hey," Dean had a sudden thought. "Could you do me one more favor?"

"Sure."

"Would you go get my cell? I haven't called Cassie since the accident – she's gonna be ticked I didn't call from the hospital." Dean wrinkled his nose, dreading that particular conversation.

"Yeah, okay," Sam said. As he opened the door, he paused and turned back to Dean. "Sorry we got carried away in there. You know we didn't mean anything by it, right?"

Dean nodded and swallowed his bite of egg. "Yeah, I know. Sorry for being cranky. Didn't sleep very well."

Sammy nodded, then disappeared into the house to fetch the phone.

After finishing the last of his breakfast, Dean carefully balanced the plate on the porch railing and looked back out over the scrap yard. It reassured him to know that if Castiel ever did show up, he wouldn't be immediately attacked by Gabriel or Joshua and murdered for being a demon freak.

Dean just didn't expect Cas ever to come within a hundred miles of him again.


	36. Chapter 36

**March 30, 2001**

Dean knew he shouldn't be driving, but he had to get home before he fell apart.

He'd thought everything was good, everything was fine. How had he missed it? Was he really that oblivious that he'd been so utterly blindsided?

Sure, work had been hectic, and he'd started taking on car restoration projects on the side. Sure, Cassie'd brought up them moving in together a few times now, but he'd thought she understood. Sam was still in school, for a few more months, anyway, and Dean didn't want to leave him on his own. Plus Bobby's heart had been giving him trouble, and Dean couldn't just move out right when he needed an extra hand.

It didn't mean he didn't take their relationship seriously or that he didn't love Cassie.

Hell, he _loved_ her. More than he knew what to do with most days. He just...had other people he loved, too, who needed him more right now.

Tonight was supposed to be a dinner date. Everything was perfectly normal, perfectly fine.

Until it wasn't.

Until she left him. She walked out, leaving him alone in their booth at the Roadhouse with her words ringing in his ears.

_I'm tired of being the only person in this relationship, Dean. Screw it. I'm done._

Ellen, the owner of the Roadhouse and a long-time friend of Bobby's, had come over to make sure everything was all right and offered him a beer on the house. He'd declined and told her everything was fine.

Everything was fine.

He was _fine_.

Dean knew he shouldn't be driving, but he managed to get to the house without killing himself or anyone else.

Bobby was already in bed by the time Dean made it home. Joshua and Gabriel were both with their garrisons, and would be away all weekend. But Sammy was home.

When Dean came through the door, his brother bounded down the stairs with no apparent thought as to how loud he was. "Dean! Guess what!"

Dean looked up to see Sam wearing a wide, beaming smile. "What?"

Eyes shining in his excitement, Sam waved a fat envelope in the air. "I got in! I got accepted to Stanford!"

He darted up to Dean and threw his arms around him in a crushing hug. Dean's arms came up automatically to return it. "You're kidding."

"Dude! This fall, I'm gonna be in freaking California at freaking _Stanford!_ I can't believe it!" Sam laughed.

"Wow," Dean said. His face was smiling, but it was purely autopilot. He felt like a robot going through the motions, but he couldn't ruin Sam's mood. "That's...awesome, Sammy. Congratulations."

"Barry just found out he got into MIT last week, too. I didn't expect you to be home this early, but I'm about to head to his place for some celebratory pizza and a little Gran Turismo – you in?" Sam asked hopefully as he stuffed his giant feet into his giant shoes and grabbed his jacket.

"Naw, man. You go hang out with Barry. We can do something later, maybe."

Sam snatched his keys from the hook on the wall. "'Kay, sounds good. See ya!"

The door had already closed with a bang, and the screen was hissing shut on its pneumatic closer when Dean finally responded, "Later..."

When he finally shook himself back to awareness, he couldn't have said how long he'd been standing there. At a loss for what to do with himself, he went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared blankly at the contents for a minute. He eventually grabbed a beer, but he couldn't bring himself to open it. The half a cheeseburger he'd eaten before Cassie dropped the bomb sat heavy as lead in his stomach, and the thought of a beer on top of that made him queasy. He put it back.

In the living room, he turned on the TV to see if there was something to distract him, but it was Friday night. Everything was shit. Still, he kept changing channels as if one of them would suddenly have something good on.

His mind buzzed, numb and blank. Shouldn't he be feeling something...more? Sad or angry? Hurt? Dean wondered if he'd somehow overloaded his emotion circuits or whatever, because it seemed like he should feel _something_. But he didn't. Maybe he was broken.

He got up and went back to the kitchen. Bobby kept whiskey in the cupboard over the fridge. Dean brought the dusty bottle and a tumbler back to the couch, poured himself a shot, and tossed it back. It burned going down. Normally, he wasn't much of a drinker and _never_ drank hard liquor out of fear of turning into his dad, but right now it felt good. The burn in his throat and the warmth spreading through his belly felt so much better than the empty nothing he'd been choking on before.

He downed two more shots before picking up the remote and resuming his channel surfing. Before long, he'd lost track of how much he'd poured, but he knew it had to be a lot, because the room swam when he stood to go take a piss.

When he got back from the bathroom, he flopped back down onto the couch but forgot about the television.

So this was his Friday nights from now on. Sitting at home all alone while normal people were out living their normal lives. He and Cassie had been together for two years. A life without her in it seemed impossible. And empty. And horrible.

And soon Sam would be going off to school a million miles away. That had always been the plan – for Sam to work hard and get into the best school he could to study law. Dean knew that. But suddenly it was all so _real_. In just a few short months, Sam would be gone.

Somewhere deep inside, a little ember of feeling came to life. An uneasy feeling. Realizing it was there seemed to give it permission to grow, and soon it was all he could think about.

Was there something wrong with him? Why did everyone always leave him? Logically, he knew his mom and dad hadn't left him on purpose, but they were gone all the same. Gabriel had been taken away from him. Castiel had abandoned him years ago. Cassie had dumped him. Shit, even Amanda Heckerling and Rhonda Hurley from way back in the day hadn't been able to stand being around him for long.

Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. Dean gasped in air and groped across the coffee table for the whiskey bottle. He took a solid slug and closed his eyes as the liquor burned its way down his throat, giving him something to focus on besides the rising hysteria. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes.

Fuck, he was such a mess. It was no wonder he was destined to be alone.

He sat up straight in sudden realization. Holy shit, that was it.

That was why he was such a fucking failure. He was _meant_ to be alone, so of course everything always crashed and burned. It was so simple, so obvious – it was all his own fault for trying so desperately to cling to things he shouldn't have.

Throwing back another swallow of whiskey, Dean felt an eerie calm settle over him like fog. It wasn't quite the numbness from before – his heart ached like it was being torn apart, but it was okay, because now it all made sense.

If he didn't get attached, he wouldn't get hurt.

Easy peasy.


	37. Chapter 37

**September 6, 2001**

Dean pushed the Impala's door open, the resulting creak surely loud enough to wake everyone in the house. Great. Just what he needed – another freakin' lecture.

As he levered himself out of the car, he caught a good whiff of himself. Man, he needed a shower, and it couldn't wait until morning. He reeked of sex and the perfume that... Darla? Starla? ...that what's-her-name had worn. Or bathed in, from the smell of it.

He made his way up the porch steps and was fumbling with his keys when a voice from the darkness startled him.

"It's after midnight. Where have you been?" Sam was just a vague shape swaying gently on the porch swing. He didn't sound pissed – he sounded disappointed, which was worse.

Dean shrugged and opened the door. "Out."

Sam rose from the swing and followed him inside, blinking and shading his eyes when Dean switched on the light in the entryway. "Seriously? What happened to us hanging out tonight?"

"That was tonight? Sorry, man," Dean breezed over to hang up his keys and leather jacket, then crossed into the kitchen to get a beer.

Sam followed him like a hound. "Of course it was tonight, Dean. I'm leaving in the morning."

Dean froze for an instant, then shrugged and twisted off the cap. Tipping his head back, he took a deep pull from the bottle.

Sniffing cautiously at the air, Sam wrinkled his nose. "Jeez, Dean, you smell like a whorehouse. What is _up_ with you?" His expression went from disgusted to concerned. "You know we're all worried about you, right?"

"And I keep telling you, Sammy, there's no need to be. I'm totally fine."

"For the last damn time, it's _Sam_. And you coulda fooled me. The insane hours you're working? The drinking and sleeping around? I know you've been having a hard time ever since Cassie, but come on, man. Talk to me."

Throwing his arms wide, Dean snapped, "What? What is there to talk about? I work as much as I need to work to keep things going. And my drinking habits and sex life are none of your damn business."

Sam shook his head with a frustrated sigh. "Well, what about tonight then? This was my last night in Sioux Falls. Can you at least tell me why you bailed on me?"

"I didn't bail, Sam. I just...forgot."

"Right." The wounded look on Sam's face made guilt squirm unpleasantly in Dean's gut.

"Look, I had a long day at work, and I stopped for a beer after to unwind. So I got distracted. Sue me."

Sam looked at him for a long moment. "Why don't you come with me? Take a few days off and drive with me to California. Just you and me."

"I can't, Sam. You know that. I haven't hired anybody yet, and I can't afford to stay closed for that long. And I'm backed up on my restoration work already."

"So you're just going to pretend I'm going down the street for coffee instead of moving halfway across the country?"

Dean banged his beer down on the counter. "Dammit, Sam, I'm not pretending anything – I know perfectly damn well where you're going. So it's far away, so what? You're a big boy now. It's not like you need me for anything anymore."

"Of course I need you, asshole." Sam looked him up and down like he was an alien. "You're my brother."

Guilt flooded in, drowning the indifference Dean had been trying so hard to cultivate. "No, you don't," he insisted. "Besides, you'll have Gabriel with you."

"That's not the same, Dean," Sam said, giving him those stupid, sad puppy dog eyes of his. "You think because Gabriel's around I won't miss you? Don't be an idiot."

"Yeah, you say that, but you're gonna have a whole new life out there. You'll have classes and friends, maybe meet a girl. You'll be way too busy to think about...home," Dean grumbled. "So just let it go, would you?"

Sam shook his head, hurt evident in his face. "You're such a dumbass sometimes," he said before turning and disappearing up the stairs.

Dean watched until Sam was out of sight, then drained his beer. "Shit," he muttered.

He tossed his empty into the bin. If he didn't get into the shower in about two seconds flat, he was going to puke. But as he turned to head upstairs, he nearly ran into Bobby standing in the doorway in his flannel pajamas.

"Dude," he griped. "Ninja much?"

"The hell is wrong with you, boy?" Bobby growled.

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, Dean sighed. "Sorry if I woke you. I'm just headed upstairs, so I shouldn't bother you anymore."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "I ain't talking about that, you numbskull. You oughta be ashamed of yourself, treating your brother that way."

"Excuse me?" Dean drew back at the unexpected rebuke.

"I know you, son. And I know Sam moving away is killing you." Bobby took a step closer and put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "But don't you take it out on him like that. It's gonna be tough for him, too, being away from home. If you act like you don't care, then it'll be that much tougher on him."

"You don't underst-"

"The hell I don't," Bobby barked. "Now get up there and make it right before I put a boot in your ass."

Dean's face flushed. "Yes, sir."

"Don't 'sir' me. Just get up there, jackass. And take a shower. You smell like a hooker's butt." Bobby turned on his heel and stomped back to his bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

His cheeks still burning, Dean climbed the stairs, dreading what awaited him at the top. Dammit, this was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid these last few months.

When he reached Sam's room, he steeled himself and knocked softly on the door. "Sam?"

After a long pause, Sam answered curtly, "What do you want?"

Dean pushed open the door and edged into the room. "Um. I thought maybe we could go to breakfast together in the morning. Before you go?"

Sam looked at him warily. "Why?"

"Yeah." Dean took a deep breath. "I've been acting like a jerk, and I'm sorry. It's going to suck around here with you gone, but I've been trying to convince myself I don't care. But I do care. I'm gonna miss the shit out of you, Sam."

With tears welling in his eyes, Sam gave him a wavering half smile. "Yeah, okay. Breakfast sounds good."

Dean nodded and turned to leave, but Sam stopped him.

"Hey, Dean?"

He paused in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. And...I don't mind if sometimes you call me Sammy."


	38. Chapter 38

**January 6-7, 2002**

Only a little eggnog remained after the holidays were done, so as Dean took down the last of the decorations, he polished it off – after adding a generous splash of rum, of course. And then another for good measure.

For weeks before they were due to arrive, Dean had been looking forward to Sam and Gabriel's visit over winter break. It would be the first time Sam had been back since leaving for school in September. Gabriel had popped in a time or two, but with his class load, Sam hadn't been able to get away. To take full advantage of their visit, Dean had even arranged for Garth to take care of things at the salvage yard office while they were here.

Dean shook his head and grinned as he sorted glass ornaments into their boxes. When he'd hired Garth Fitzgerald IV, he'd had his doubts. The guy had seemed completely spacey, and it was hard to believe he could tie his own shoes, never mind drive a forklift or track inventory. But he'd been recommended by Ellen Harvelle, so Dean had given him a chance. He'd turned out to be more than competent, if a little on the weird side. But Dean was grateful he'd worked out, and that he'd been willing to put in extra time over the holidays.

Having Sam and Gabriel back home again was fantastic. Dean was happier than he'd been in longer than he could remember. But as much as everyone seemed to enjoy the visit, it was clear from the way Sam talked that he loved his new life out west. Considering that most of what he talked about was a girl named Jessica, Dean couldn't blame him. She sounded awesome, and if she made Sam happy, then Dean was cool with it. Even if it made him ache a little inside.

They'd done the holidays up right, with over-the-top decorations and obscene amounts of amazing food. The house had brimmed with energy while Sam and Gabriel were here, but they'd returned to California this evening, and now the place seemed desolate. He stared down at the empty glass in his hand, then around the quiet room. Dean knew it was just the post-holiday crash getting him down, but it sucked anyway.

All the excitement of the visit had left Bobby exhausted – feeling, as he put it, 'like hammered crap' – so Dean was cleaning up the house while Bobby rested. Having something to occupy him helped him ignore the echoing silence that pressed into his ears.

When he was done, Dean considered heading to the Roadhouse for a few drinks since he hadn't gone out at all while Sammy and Gabriel were here, but he just wasn't in the mood. Instead, he went to bed early, too. Not quite twenty-three years old, and already he was turning into an old fogey.

* * *

"Dean."

Something was wrong.

"Dean, wake up." Joshua's voice was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Blinking himself up into consciousness, Dean pushed himself upright. "What is it? What's going on?" he slurred.

It was nearly dawn. The gray light filtering in past the curtains gave just enough illumination for Dean to make out Joshua's face, wet with tears.

A cold hand gripped Dean's heart. He knew before Joshua said anything, but he didn't want to believe it. "No..."

Joshua gave a small nod, and his face crumpled as more tears fell. He choked out a few heaving breaths before he managed to say, "Bobby's gone. Heart attack."

"Fuck," Dean whispered. He scrambled out of bed and ran for Bobby's room only to lurch to a halt in the doorway.

Bobby looked like he was sleeping. A wild hope flared that somehow Joshua was mistaken, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had come. At first, he couldn't even figure out why, but then he registered the stillness. Even asleep, a body moves. Bobby didn't. There were no fluttering eyelids or shifting eyes beneath them. No pulse beating at his throat. No soft sighs or light snores. No rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Dean's own breathing stuttered erratically – it felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself.

Joshua's warm voice was thready in his grief. "I came as soon as I felt it happen, so he wasn't alone...in the end."

Hot tears spilled over, scalding Dean's cheeks as he nodded, grateful to the angel for the comfort he gave to Bobby then and to Dean now.

"Oh, shit." Suddenly horrified, Dean turned to Joshua, gripping his shoulders tightly. "What about you? What happens to you now?"

Joshua pressed his lips together, but they still trembled. He shook his head.

"How long?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know," Joshua replied after releasing a deep sigh. "Not long."

Dean threw his arms around the angel and held on for dear life. "No. No, no, no, no..." he muttered under his breath. He couldn't do this. It was too much.

Joshua hugged him back for a moment, but eventually pushed him gently away. "Dean, you need to call someone. Let me help you while I still can."

A fresh wave of tears flooded down Dean's face. Joshua was dying, but here he was, helping and comforting Dean in the the little time he had left.

Mopping his cheeks with the shoulders of his T-shirt, Dean nodded and attempted to get himself together. Call someone. That's what he had to do. He stumbled back to his room to find his cell. He made the call to 911 and afterward, returned to Bobby's room and sat at the edge of his bed, staring down at the best man he'd ever known.

"He was never very good at expressing it, you know, but he loved you boys more than anything." Joshua stood beside him. He hadn't heard the angel approach. "Bobby never believed himself to be fatherhood material. I'm so happy you came into his life to prove him wrong."

"Well, if he really thought that, then he was the 'idjit'. He was the best damn dad Sam and I could've had. I don't know what I'm going to do without him." Dean turned to look up at Joshua. "Or without you."

Joshua put a hand on Dean's shoulder and gave a light squeeze. His hand felt cool through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Dean noticed his halo had begun to flicker and wane.

"Joshua?" His voice came out tiny and afraid.

The angel wet his lips and swallowed before speaking. "I think I'd better lie down."

Dean jumped to his feet and led Joshua out to the couch where he'd be out of the way when the medics arrived. Dean dragged the coffee table closer so he could sit by the angel without crowding him on the couch.

"Is there anything I can do?" Dean asked, desperate to stop feeling so helpless.

Joshua shook his head. "Just take care of yourself. Without Bobby here, I worry you won't."

"Yeah, he was always pretty good at making me pull my head out of my ass," Dean replied with a weak smile.

"Indeed he was."

Dean stayed with Joshua until the doorbell rang. He led the medics to Bobby's room and answered their questions numbly. When the coroner finally came and wheeled the body out, Dean was shaking with the effort it took to stay in one piece.

After everyone left, Dean returned to his vigil by the couch. Joshua's eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow and labored. His halo was barely discernible anymore.

When the angel raised a hand toward Dean, he took it. Joshua tugged his hand in to cradle it against his chest. His eyes were narrow slits. "You need to call Sam," he wheezed.

"I will," Dean promised. "After."

Joshua gave the faintest of nods. "You and Sam weren't my bloodline, but you were family all the same."

A sob lurched out of Dean, and he struggled to rein himself back under control. "You, too," he whispered. Then he frowned. "Joshua?"

But the halo of life energy from Bobby that had sustained the angel for so long was depleted. Joshua had taken his last breath.

Dean squeezed his hand tightly as he sobbed freely for the family he'd lost – and not just today. Today was just the breaking point. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Joshua's shoulder as he cried so hard he thought he might be sick.

And then suddenly, he felt movement. The hand in his seemed to...slip. He jerked his head up and watched Joshua's body dissipate like fog. Without Bobby as his anchor to the physical world, the angel was reclaimed by the ether.

And just like that, Dean was left utterly alone.


	39. Chapter 39

**January 9, 2002**

Castiel flinched as another particularly painful pulse of emotion struck him. In the years since the car accident, he'd nearly mastered the art of ignoring Dean's feelings, carefully separating them from his own and walling them off – but that was before. Early last year, something had happened in Dean Winchester's life that had led to an ever deepening spiral of misery and pain. The last two days had been nearly unbearable.

He rearranged himself in his nest of pillows and attempted to return his focus to the book in his hands. The adventures of Harry Potter and his friends were compelling, and Castiel had found them to be an excellent distraction from the now-constant bombardment of emotion from Dean. But today, they weren't enough.

Unable to concentrate on the _Prisoner of Azkaban_ , Castiel paced the narrow room. He wished he could fly to alleviate his anxiety, but he couldn't trust himself to do so safely the last few days. Instead, he'd sequestered himself in the cabin he'd claimed as a home two years ago.

The old, wooden building had long been abandoned deep in the Appalachian mountains. Castiel had found it and made it his own – cleaning out the interior, repairing the worst of the damage to keep out the rain and cold, and then gradually filling it floor to ceiling with books. Sam had introduced him to the wonders that could be found in books, and he read everything he could get his hands on, though he had a particular fondness for the young adult and children's novels to which he'd initially been exposed.

Castiel adjusted his oil lamp as low as it would go. If he couldn't read, he should save fuel, which was much more difficult for him to obtain than books.

_CAS_.

Suddenly, Castiel found himself on his hands and knees, gasping for air. The shock of sensation that sent him there left him disoriented, and it took a moment for him to understand what was happening.

Words.

Inside his head, he heard a voice – Dean's voice – speaking words.

He could hear Dean...praying to him.

Shaking hard, Castiel closed his eyes and tried to make sense of the words, but they were slurred and incoherent. He only caught an occasional phrase, but those combined with the staggering emotional pain coming from Dean made it clear something was terribly, horribly wrong.

_...I can't..._

_...Cas?_

_...please...I need...need..._

The old urge to fly immediately to Dean's side flared up and nearly overwhelmed him. Castiel shook his head, trying to free himself from the voice, but then the words trailed off in a mumbled mess, finally going silent which was somehow worse than the desperate prayers. For the first time in months, Castiel felt nothing from him, and he knew – _knew_ – Dean needed help, but was just as certain that any attempt he made to assist him would interfere with Dean's angel. It was the angel's place to help him, not Castiel's.

But where was the angel? Why didn't it _do_ something?

And if his angel could help, why would Dean be praying to Castiel?

For several more minutes, Castiel fought the instinct to fly, telling himself that the angel would come. It would save Dean from whatever was wrong. But nothing changed, and whatever sense that told him that Dean was in danger still screamed its alarm.

Finally, he couldn't resist any longer. He took one extra second to extinguish his oil lamp before winging his way to Sioux Falls. He lit atop the roof of the shop building a short distance from the house. Trembling in fear, he quickly scanned the scrap yard for the angels that might catch him there, but there was no sign of either of them. And he neither saw nor heard anything to indicate the cause of Dean's distress.

Castiel fluttered cautiously inside the house, his heart pounding in his chest. The television was on, but there was no sound, just flickering light from the living room. He peeked around the corner, but saw no one. More light came from the kitchen, so he crept silently that way.

All his breath left him in a shuddering rush as Dean came into view.

He was curled unmoving on his side in the middle of the floor, surrounded by empty bottles and the cloying stink of alcohol, stale sweat, and urine. Castiel was beside him in an instant, horrified at Dean's condition – unconscious rather than sleeping and lying in a pool of vomit. More of it covered his chin and was spattered over his shirt.

He took Dean's face in his hands and pulled at the energies that hummed beneath his skin, relieved to find that Dean still breathed. Barely. Working delicately, Castiel sought out the poison in Dean's blood that was the source of the problem, breaking it down until it was no longer toxic and burning it away.

Having removed the immediate danger, Castiel released the healing energies with a sigh. But Dean was still in terrible condition, and Castiel couldn't leave him lying here in these fluids.

"Dean," he implored, running his fingers through the man's short hair and patting his cheek softly. "Please wake up."

Dean coughed, sputtering and spitting more vomit from his mouth, and groaned incoherently. He clearly couldn't move on his own, so Castiel stood and quickly searched the rooms on the lower floor of the house until he found what he needed. Returning to Dean, he gripped his shoulder and flew them the short hop to the bathroom.

Heaving Dean up by one arm, Castiel ducked beneath it to support him. Dean groaned again, but remained dead weight as Castiel struggled to lift him up and over the side of the bathtub. As he carefully lowered Dean's head to rest against the back of the tub, he debated waiting until he woke, but decided Dean wouldn't want to soak in his own bodily fluids any longer than necessary.

Removing the soiled clothing from his limp form was awkward and difficult, but once he managed it, Castiel turned the water on full and set it to spray from the shower head rather than the tap. With a wordless cry, Dean came abruptly to life, trying to fight the icy water raining down from above.

Castiel let the water do its work for a minute or so, then turned it off. He knelt beside the tub and caught one of the flailing arms. "Dean! Calm down or you'll injure yourself, and I've healed you enough for one day."

Dean fell still at last, blinking up at Castiel in bewilderment. "Cas?"

"Yes." Pulling a small towel from a ring beside the sink, Castiel used it to mop water from Dean's hair and face.

"It's you?" Dean reached up as if expecting the vision before him to vanish like smoke. He touched Castiel's jaw with his shaking fingertips. "You're really here?"

Castiel nodded and gave a tentative upward quirk of his lips. "Hello, Dean."

Suddenly, he was back on the shore of that pond, leaning over a terrified, soaking wet human child. The stunned look of awe on Dean's adult face was nearly identical to the one he'd worn back then, except now there was so much more pain in his wide, green eyes.

With a whimper, Dean lunged upward to claw at him, struggling to lean out over the edge of the tub enough to drag him close and cling to Castiel's neck. His body shook from the cold and the shock, and he mumbled Castiel's name over and over in a prayer. His shivering changed to body wracking sobs, and he clutched tighter to Castiel who could feel the hot-then-cold touch of tears on his neck and shoulder.

"Dean, what happened to you?" Castiel whispered. He stroked the hair at the back of Dean's head, attempting to calm him. When the shuddering died down some, he eased back to search Dean's face. "Where is everyone?"

Pale as he was, Dean seemed fragile as glass, though that was belied by the strength of the grip he maintained on Castiel. He shook his head helplessly. "Gone," he muttered. "Gone, all gone."

How had Dean reached this point? What could possibly have happened to hurt him so badly, and why had nothing been done to care for him? A thread of anger wound through Castiel. The more he thought of the careless creature that had allowed this, the hotter his anger became. "Dean, _where_ is your angel?"

Dean's lip trembled. "Don't have one. Gabriel is Sam's now," he answered. "All I have is you."

Suddenly, it felt as if Castiel were the one plunged in icy water.

His anger evaporated in an instant. No angel? If Dean didn't have an angel, then... Castiel felt sick thinking of everything he'd actively ignored over the last years, assuming that his presence would only hinder efforts to help Dean, as it had for Sam after the car accident. "Dean..."

Castiel realized with a start that Dean was still soaked from his cold shower in a drafty old house in January. His shivering had increased, and his lips had taken on a tinge of blue. Castiel stood, looking around the room for towels, but before he got two steps away, he felt a sharp tug at his wing.

With a panic stricken face, Dean clutched two of Castiel's primary feathers in a tight fist. "Don't go! Don't leave!"

"I won't leave, I promise," Castiel assured him. Reaching down, he coaxed Dean's fingers from his feathers. "I'm just getting a towel. We have to get you dry."

Dean blinked and looked down at himself with a slight frown, as if he'd only just noticed where he was.

Castiel found two large towels, and brought them to Dean, helping him climb out of the tub and wrap them around his shivering body. "Where are some clean clothes?"

"Upstairs."

"Hold on," Castiel told him as he gripped Dean's shoulder and flew them to the top of the stairs. Dean stumbled on the landing, but Castiel held him up.

Dean lifted his chin in the direction of his room, so Castiel led him there with a supportive hand at his elbow. He made Dean sit on his bed while he searched for something suitably warm and comfortable for him to wear. In the dresser, he found soft flannel pants, a T-shirt, and thick socks.

Despite Dean's weak protests, Castiel helped him dress. Dean flushed and wouldn't look Castiel in the eye, but he was too unsteady on his feet to be left alone. Dry and dressed, Dean crawled into bed, curling up on his side while Castiel tucked the blankets snugly around him.

Dean's voice was drained and sleepy. "I can't believe you're really here."

Guilt ate at Castiel's insides, but he smiled softly anyway. "I'm really here."

"Why?"

"I heard you," Castiel answered simply. He crossed over to hit the light switch by the door.

"Will you still be here in the morning?" The darkness seemed to swallow the words, as if it were as afraid of the answer as Dean.

Returning, Castiel sat on the edge of Dean's bed. "Yes. I won't leave you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

The affirmation allowed Dean to relax into sleep – Castiel had removed the threat of alcohol poisoning, but Dean's exhausted body still needed rest to fully recover.

As Castiel's eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, he let one of his wings drape over Dean as an additional blanket and watched him sleep. Suddenly puzzled, he tipped his head, scrutinizing Dean more fully. He hadn't noticed it in all the chaos before, but there was something that felt...different.

A twinge of pain interrupted his musing, and he realized Dean had once again latched onto his feathers. It hurt, but Castiel knew he wasn't doing it deliberately. If Dean's subconscious needed reassurance that Castiel wouldn't leave him during the night, he would gladly tolerate a little discomfort. He had so very much to atone for.

* * *

**_Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ is written by J.K. Rowling. Duh.**


	40. Chapter 40

**Only a couple chapters left to go, my sweet kittens.**

* * *

**January 10, 2002**

Castiel watched over Dean the whole night, keeping himself occupied by puzzling over the unfamiliar energy that hummed in the background of the usual things he felt. It felt like Dean, but different at the same time. New. It made no sense. It became a little itch on the inside of his skull that he couldn't quite scratch.

The sun had been up for several hours before Dean finally woke. With a deeper intake of breath, he stretched and blinked blearily. Catching sight of Castiel seemed to trigger a flood of memories from the night before – Dean froze and went pale, hurriedly averting his eyes.

"Cas," he said in a scratchy morning voice as he scooted back to sit up against the headboard. "You stayed."

"I told you I would," Castiel replied.

Dean squirmed. "After everything last night, I thought..."

When Dean didn't finish his statement, Castiel guessed, "You thought I wouldn't?"

He shrugged and kept his eyes on his lap. "I don't know."

Castiel flinched at the reminder of how badly he'd failed Dean these last years. "I owe you an apology," he admitted solemnly. At that, Dean looked up, but Castiel didn't give him a chance to protest. "You've been in pain and in need for so long, and I stayed away. I was trying to keep out of your angel's way, but...I didn't know. I'm so sorry, Dean."

"You don't owe me anything, Cas. But I'm glad you're here now." Dean dropped his eyes again. "Thank you for that."

Castiel studied him for an extra moment. In addition to Dean's embarrassment over yesterday, Castiel could also feel the deep grief that had been cutting away at him for the last few days. From Dean's fragile state last night, Castiel knew to tread carefully. He settled his wings fully flat against his back and asked gently, "Why were you here alone?"

Sure enough, Dean's voice trembled as he answered, "It's just me. Sam is away at school now. And Bobby-" His words choked off, and he took several gasping breaths before he could continue. "Bobby...died two days ago. He had no other blood family, so Joshua died, too."

Castiel reeled from the surge of pain Dean felt and could find no words. Instead he reached out to pull Dean close and simply held him, hoping it might offer a tiny bit of comfort. Dean clung to him like a limpet.

"Sammy's coming, but not until tomorrow. I've been trying to deal with everything – the phone calls and arrangements and the legal bullshit – and last night I just...I just couldn't." His arms tightened around Castiel. "I'm sorry, Cas. I'm sorry I'm so fucked up."

Pulling away, Castiel held Dean firmly by the shoulders and locked their eyes together. "You're no such thing. You're just trying to cope with a difficult situation. But I'm here now, and I'll help you."

Dean nodded but didn't seem truly convinced.

"Do you feel well enough to get up? Your body will need food."

After appearing to take mental stock, Dean nodded. "Yeah, but I want a real shower first."

So Castiel left Dean to get himself out of bed while he cleared the soiled clothing out of the bathroom. It smelled terrible. Not knowing what else to do with it, he tossed it all out the back door downstairs. He could ask about it later. While Dean was in the shower, Castiel cleaned up the kitchen, too, figuring that trying to eat while surrounded by the unpleasant scents would be disagreeable.

He finished just as Dean came into the room, looking much better than he had half an hour ago. Castiel sat at the kitchen table and watched curiously as Dean prepared himself a bowl of cereal. It might be important in the future to know how to do such things. He found the strange misspelling of the word 'fruit' on the cereal box puzzling, but not enough so to ask about it.

Dean sat across the table from him to eat. Between spoonfuls, he said, "Sammy's coming tomorrow night to help get things ready for the memorial service Saturday. I know you can't be there for that part, but...will you stay until he gets here?" He kept his eyes on his bowl as he spoke.

"I'll stay," Castiel reassured him, then asked cautiously, "Is the angel coming with him?"

Dean looked up at that. "Yeah, he's flying Sam here. But, Cas, you should know that after he saw you at the crash, I had to tell him everything."

So the angel knew to look for him now. Castiel felt his feathers ruffling up in his fear.

"It's okay, Cas. He knows you've only ever looked out for me and Sammy. He's cool with you, I swear," Dean said, his eyes pleading with him.

Fighting back the instinct to flee, Castiel forced himself to consider Dean's words. The angel already knew of him, so there was no keeping hidden anymore. If it knew who he was and expected him here, then perhaps it wouldn't attack him on sight.

When Castiel didn't respond, Dean added, "He said he already considers you family after everything you've done for us."

Castiel paused, both surprised and uncertain how to feel about that.

"I know he'd like to meet you." Dean cringed slightly, as if expecting to be berated for even suggesting such a thing.

Meeting an _angel_. A shiver of dread ran through Castiel's wings, but he trusted Dean's judgment. He nodded slowly.

Dean brightened. "Really?"

"If you believe it to be safe, I'll try," Castiel agreed, though he couldn't shake the tension that was causing his feathers to stand up.

So after Dean finished his breakfast and rinsed his bowl, he called Sam. Castiel listened, but wasn't able to hear Sam's side of the conversation other than knowing he got quite loud after Dean told him Castiel was with him in Sioux Falls.

Dean's eyebrows shot upward at something Sam said, and he looked to Castiel, holding the phone to his shoulder to muffle it. "Would it be okay if Gabriel came right now?"

Another tingling shudder rolled through Castiel and his breath quickened. But he nodded to Dean anyway – the sooner he got this over with the better.

As soon as Dean hung up, the angel Gabriel appeared.

Hot fear shot through Castiel's belly at the angel's arrival. He tensed, hand hovering near his knife and wings primed for flight. But when the angel's eye landed on him, his fear began to recede. There was no hatred, no malice in the look directed his way.

After a moment of stunned silence with its mouth gaping, the angel put out a cautious hand. "Castiel? I'm Gabriel. It's nice to finally meet you."

Castiel's gaze flicked from the angel's face to its hand and back again. A glance at Dean showed him to be watching with wide eyes, apparently not even breathing as he waited to see what would happen.

Warily, Castiel stepped toward the angel and reached out, taking its hand for the briefest of moments before snatching his own back.

Keeping Castiel in the corner of its eye, the angel turned to address Dean in an exaggeratedly calm manner. "So Sam's off to class right now, but he's still planning to be here by tomorrow afternoon to help with everything. How you holding up, kiddo?"

Dean's expression fell at that, and his face flushed. "Oh. Um. Not so great, actually. But I'm okay now."

Gabriel's attention turned fully to Dean. "You're sure?" he asked, worry creasing his forehead.

"Cas is here," Dean replied, as if that answered everything.

The angel gave a sad smile and stepped in to embrace Dean who hugged him back tightly. Castiel rustled his wings subtly, trying to smooth his feathers back down. Despite knowing that Gabriel used to be Dean's angel and would obviously never hurt him, or any other human for that matter, his mistrust of angels made it upsetting to see one so close to Dean when he was so vulnerable.

The angel released Dean, holding him out at arms' length by the shoulders and peering up into his face. "What can I do to help?" he asked.

But Dean shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Just bring Sammy home tomorrow, and we can go from there."

After a long look, the angel sighed. "Okay, but call Sam if you change your mind. I'll be here in a flash."

"I will," Dean promised.

The angel turned to Castiel again with a serious expression. "Losing my bond with Dean broke my heart. I'm so grateful to you, Castiel, for taking care of him. I'm glad he has you."

Stunned, Castiel could only nod.

"Well," the angel chirped, clapping his hands together and backing a few steps away, "Time for me to blow this taco stand. See you tomorrow with the Samsquatch."

"Bye, Gabriel," Dean said.

Castiel gave another nod, this time of farewell, and Gabriel vanished in a blink.

Dean turned his way and smiled softly, holding up a tiny candy between his fingers. "See? Not so bad, really."


	41. Chapter 41

**One more after this.**

* * *

**March 20, 2002**

If Cas didn't take a damn chill pill soon, Dean was going to kick his ass.

He'd been acting weird for weeks now, strangely anxious about something he couldn't seem to explain and, lately anyway, utterly unable to be still. He popped in and out at all hours, muttering to himself and staring at Dean like he'd grown an extra head. Today had been the worst yet. Cas had shown up _at work_. Sure, it was in Dean's office, and he'd been the only one there at the time, but still... And now he was flapping around the kitchen like a hysterical chicken and Dean was going to murder him if he didn't knock it off.

"Will you _quit?_ You're driving me crazy, Cas. Either settle down and shut up or go somewhere else and let me do this in peace. You're like a freaking toddler on speed," Dean griped as he fished up another plate to wash.

Feathers fluffed practically to the ceiling, Cas snapped back, "This is important!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Except you can't even tell me what it is."

"I don't _know_ what it is! I've _told_ you! I can't find it, but there's something. It's...I don't know, bigger... _more_. Other. And it's _now_ – I can feel it." Cas paced the linoleum maniacally, wings bumping Dean every time he turned.

"Dude! When you start making sense, let me know, but until then, will you _please_ go away?"

Indignant, Cas huffed and vanished with a snap of feathers. Dean sighed in the blissful quiet. Up to his elbows in bubbles, he scratched his chin on his shoulder before picking up a saucepan to scrub. He really needed to get better about not letting the dishes pile up. Living more or less alone had turned him into a slacker.

After finishing the dishes and tidying the rest of the kitchen, he grabbed a Barq's and parked himself on the couch in front of the TV, hoping to do nothing but veg out for a few hours. It was a re-run this week, but he always watched _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ , even if he'd seen it before. Sammy would laugh his ass off, but Sammy never had to know. It was the one with the blowout cat fight between Dr. Piccolo and Dr. Wang over the sexy but aloof new obstetrician who'd just been hired after the recent tragic, unexplained death of his twin sister. Definitely a good one.

Not even five minutes into it, his phone rang. With an annoyed grunt, he put down his root beer, muted the TV, and dug his cell out of his pocket.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dean Winchester?" an unfamiliar female voice asked.

"Yeah, who's this?"

"I'm Dr. Fisher down at New Hope General Hospital, and I need to speak with you regarding Lisa Braeden."

Dean frowned. He knew that name. Rifling through his mental rolodex, he came up with an image of a tall, dark haired woman. Pretty. Very bendy. "Okaaay. Are you sure I'm the one you need to talk to? I only really met her once and that was, like, months ago."

An uncomfortable pause stretched until the moment grew painful. "Mr. Winchester, this might be...difficult. But Lisa Braeden was admitted here early today. She listed you as her emergency contact."

"What? Why?"

"Ms. Braeden was admitted to the maternity ward."

Dean blinked. The words coming out of the phone weren't making any sense at all. "Sorry?"

"Ms. Braeden was well into her labor when she arrived at the hospital. But I'm afraid there were complications with the birth, and I'm very sorry to tell you that she passed away. Fortunately, even though the birth was quite stressful, the baby will be fine."

Again with the nonsense words. But Dean's stomach contracted into a hot, tight ball nevertheless. "Wait, Doctorrr..."

"Fisher."

"Dr. Fisher, why are you telling me this?" Some part of Dean's brain chose to notice that his voice was a full octave higher than it usually was. The rest of his brain was busy screaming in sheer panic.

"I'm sorry – you obviously didn't know anything about this, but Ms. Braeden named you as the father of her baby."

The world stopped.

Thank goodness he was already sitting on the couch, because his whole body went totally numb in shock. He definitely would have fallen on his ass if it weren't for that couch. Good couch. Best couch ever.

The screaming in his head became all-consuming as he struggled to make enough brain cells function to come up with a reply.

"What?" was the genius response he came up with.

Right then, in a flurry of feathers, Castiel appeared directly in front of Dean. His eyes were enormous as he loomed over him, his wings shivering in his efforts to remain still. "Dean! I know what it is!"

Dean stared up into those vibrant blue eyes and actually felt the blood drain out of his face. "Oh, fuck..."

The phone was buzzing as the voice on the other end tried to get his attention again, but he couldn't find the strength to lift it to his ear. His arms and legs felt floaty, and his head spun.

Cas's brows drew together in concern. "Dean? Are you well?"

"Uhhhh..."

Hands cupped his cheeks, and some of the fuzzy panic muffling all his thoughts ebbed. Dean closed his eyes for a second, drawing strength from the touch. When he opened them again, he gripped Cas's elbow and gave him a nod to let him know he was all right.

He picked up the phone again. "Um, Doc? So, what happens now?"

* * *

Hours later, Dean stood sentry at the window overlooking the NICU, his eyes glued to the tiny creature behind the glass. They told him the baby was going to be fine, but they were keeping him here for a little while just to be sure after such a difficult birth.

Ben.

A boy.

Dean had been wracking his brain, trying to pull up everything he could remember about that night with Lisa Braeden. A lot of the details were lost to time and tequila. The only specific thing he could recall was that her eyes had been brown – so dark that the pupils were almost indistinguishable from the irises.

He could barely remember the woman who'd just died bearing his child.

_Fuck_.

Cas had confirmed it, too. After Dean got off the phone with the doctor, Cas had practically buzzed around the room screeching about how the thing – the 'more' thing he'd been driving Dean crazy trying to figure out – was another Winchester. A new Winchester.

As quickly as the Impala could get him there, Dean had made it to the hospital where he'd been bombarded with awkward questions and paperwork and demands for I.D. Apparently, Lisa had no family and no angel, and she'd listed Dean as both the father and her emergency contact on her intake forms.

And then she'd died.

Of course it was more complicated than that, but Dean couldn't absorb the details. He was still trying to take in the most important part.

Holy freaking shit, he was a dad.

Fear gripped him again, as it'd been doing in waves ever since he'd gotten that call. He was not equipped for this. No warning, no months of planning and shopping and knitting cute little booties. No easing in to the idea at all. Just _wham!_ He was suddenly responsible for a whole new human life.

The hand he'd been resting against the glass clenched into a fist. He couldn't do this.

He turned and bolted down the hallway, his breath coming hard and fast. More than one person asked him if he was all right as he ran by, but he ignored them. Of course he wasn't all right. Everything was all wrong!

Moving blindly through the corridors, he eventually found a bathroom and locked himself inside. He fell back against the door and slid down it to land on his ass. This was completely insane. They couldn't possibly expect him to be a parent. Sure, the nuts and bolts of it were probably covered, since he'd spent his own childhood feeding Sammy and changing his diapers almost from day one.

But the actual parenting part? No freakin' way. He was only a little over two months out from nearly killing himself with booze. Burying his face in his hands, he tried to keep from hyperventilating.

He had _no idea_ what he was doing.

A familiar rustle drew his attention, and he jerked his head up. Cas had slipped past the hospital's industrial strength demon traps as easily as he'd passed through angel warding. "Cas? What the hell? You can't be here! Someone will see you!"

Cas crouched in front of him and peered intently into his eyes. "Your level of distress is alarming." He put a hand on Dean's forehead as if checking for a fever. "I apologize if my concern for you is inconvenient."

Pushing aside the hand, Dean grumbled, "Smart ass."

"What's wrong? Why are you so upset?"

Dean threw a hand in the air. "Shit, Cas, what _isn't_ wrong? How the hell did _I_ end up with a baby?"

Cas raised an eyebrow. "I assume that's a rhetorical question."

"Ha ha hilarious," Dean retorted. "Seriously, man, I can't be a dad! I have no clue what I'm doing!"

"Of course you do, Dean." Cas tipped his head and looked at him like it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You effectively raised Sam on your own, and you've both grown to be good men."

"Dude, it's not the same. That was just me keeping us alive. This is...different."

Cas put a hand on Dean's knee and waited until he met his eyes. "You will be a wonderful father. I have no doubt it will be a difficult and perhaps frightening experience, but you won't have to do it alone."

All the tension in Dean's body slowly trickled away, taking the last of the panic with it. As always, Cas knew just what he needed to hear. Dean was so damn lucky to have him. "Thanks, Cas."

Cas gave him a small smile. "I'll be waiting at home. Pray if you need anything."

After Cas disappeared, Dean climbed to his feet and left the bathroom to find his way back to the NICU.

* * *

The next day was chaos as Dean bought out the baby aisles at practically every store in town and spent hours trying to put it all together at the house. Back at the hospital, Dr. Fisher made sure he had a massive list of books to read and people to call when questions inevitably arose.

Each time he held Ben, a fresh panic clutched at his guts, but never seemed to last long. Just looking at the tiny boy with his tiny fingers on his tiny, perfect hands was distraction enough to settle his fear.

Finally, Ben was given the all clear, and Dean was free to take him home. He still hadn't found a car seat he trusted, so after bundling Ben out the hospital door, Dean went down to the emptiest corner of the parking garage and prayed for Cas.

"Hello, Dean," came the customary greeting. Then he added in softer tones, "Hello, Ben."

It was Cas's first time seeing Ben, and he appeared totally transfixed. He reached up to touch the baby's round cheek, and Ben wiggled, working his little mouth in his sleep.

"He's so small," Cas breathed in wonder. He smiled, looking sappier than Dean had ever seen.

"I know. I keep thinking I'm gonna break him. I definitely don't remember Sammy being this little," Dean said. "Would you be willing to take him home for me? I still have a few things to get – shouldn't take me too long."

"Of course," Cas agreed. Dean passed Ben over to him. Cas took the bundle carefully, cradling him with more grace than Dean had his first time.

Dean blew out a nervous breath. "This is it, I guess. Whole new life for us, huh?"

"Yes." Cas gave Dean a smile. "See you at home?"

"See you at home."

* * *

Less than an hour later, the Impala rumbled to a stop outside the house. Dean wrangled a couple of bags out of the trunk. He'd finally made a choice on the car seat front, but he left that in the car to install later tonight.

When he pushed open the front door, he could hear Cas humming softly in the front room – something he'd never heard before. As Dean stepped around the corner from the entryway, he couldn't stop the smile that burst across his face.

Cas stood in the middle of the room with Ben held close in his arms. His eyes were closed, and his nose was pressed to the thatch of dark hair on top of the baby's head. Wings slightly spread for balance, he swayed and rocked gently as he hummed tunelessly to the sleeping child.

Without opening his eyes or stopping his movements, Cas greeted him, low and quiet. "Hello, Dean. Welcome home."

A thick lump formed in Dean's throat, threatening to cut off his air, as tears blurred his vision. He had the most beautiful family in the whole world.


	42. Chapter 42

**Final chapter, kittens. F.A.Q. to follow, for those interested.**

* * *

**March 23, 2002**

"Dammit, Gabriel!" Dean squawked in annoyance. He took the squalling baby from the angel despite the complaint and went to find a fresh diaper. "You don't just get to do the fun parts!"

"What? You're his daddy – it's your job to do all the gross stuff."

Sam piped up from the kitchen where Cas was teaching him how to heat formula to the right temperature. "Language, Dean! Gotta build the good habits before he starts being able to understand you."

"You're all fired. Every one of you," Dean growled, even though he'd already promised Sammy he'd clean up his language. Didn't mean Sam had to badger him about it incessantly.

"Even me?" Cas poked his head around the corner from the kitchen, looking perturbed.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "No, not you, but only because you change diapers."

Smiling smugly, Cas ducked back into the kitchen to his supervisory duties.

As much as Dean might complain, it'd been awesome having Sam and Gabriel around to help out. After some initial shock, they'd taken the news of a surprise nephew quite well and had been excited to come meet him. They would only be here for the duration of spring break, but Dean was extremely grateful for the extra sleep he'd gotten. He had no fucki- no _flipping_ idea how single parents survived.

He snapped up Ben's onesie – a yellow one with Marmaduke on the front given to him by Garth – and handed the baby off to Gabriel. "Next time, you have to do it," he warned.

Gabriel made an over-exaggerated face of consideration before declaring, "Mmmmmmm, no, thank you." Then as Dean made to take Ben back from him, he yelped, "Okay, okay! I'll do the diaper next time, sheesh!"

Sam brought him the bottle, and Gabriel happily fed the baby, making ridiculous babbling noises at him and giving him the googly eye. Dean shook his head. The angel was positively baby crazy.

Flopping down on the couch next to Dean, Sam asked, "So Garth said he'd cover you for a while?"

Dean nodded and grinned thinking of the gawky weirdo's excitement when he'd told him about Ben. "Yeah, he said he'll cover me all next week. I'm thinking I might hire someone else part time, too, so he doesn't get burned out. I'd be screwed if he quit on me. Scrap yard's good, but the restorations are going to get way behind in a big hurry. Gonna have to make some calls and hope nobody's in too big a rush."

Sam smiled softly. "I'm really proud of you, Dean."

Dean looked at his brother in surprise. "What for?"

"For being awesome. And being a kickass dad. You didn't even consider _not_ taking Ben in, did you?"

"Of course not." Dean frowned. "He's my kid."

Sam tipped his head in a sideways nod. "My point."

Dean scoffed, but fell quiet after that, thinking. Yeah, this had all come as one hel- _heck_ of a surprise, and he still had a lot to wrap his head around, but in just the few days since he'd met Ben, that baby had become his whole world. He wouldn't change it for anything.

Deflecting the subject back to Sam, Dean asked, "So, when do we get to meet this Jess girl? Sounds like you two are getting kinda serious."

As always when Jess came up, Sam couldn't stop the goofy smile spreading across his face. "I don't know. We were talking about maybe visiting each others' families this summer."

"Awesome!" Lowering his voice, Dean added, "Does that mean Ben's gonna get a cousin sometime in the next couple years?"

Sam blushed a hilarious shade of fuschia, making Dean laugh harder than he had in ages. "Dude! We've been dating less than six months! Not exactly on the day planner."

Dean's laughter dwindled to an amused chuckle. "Yeah, yeah. So you say."

"Besides," Sam blustered, "us being pre-law and pre-med? We wouldn't have time or money for that."

"Oh, so you have thought about it, then," Dean teased.

"Shut up, jerk!"

"Sure, sure. Edu-ma-cation is important. I get it," Dean barely managed to keep a straight face. "I won't mention the idea to Gabriel, then."

Sam's eyes got huge. After a horrified glance at the baby-obsessed angel, who was still totally absorbed in crooning baby talk at Ben, he nailed Dean with his best murder-glare and hissed, "Dude. If you even _think_ about it, I will shank you."

Dean burst out in a full belly laugh. When Gabriel looked over and asked what was so funny, Sam got flustered and ran away to the kitchen, which only made Dean laugh harder still.

Wiping tears from his eyes, he eventually got up and went to go start yet _another_ load of laundry. How such a tiny creature could generate so much laundry, he couldn't understand. It had to defy all laws of physics. As he was pulling the clean stuff from the dryer, Cas appeared beside him and started plucking things from the pile to sort.

"It's good to hear you laugh like that," he said softly.

Dean smiled back at him. "Feels good to do it, too."

For a few minutes, they sorted clothes in a little tableau of quiet domesticity, and Dean slowly realized how completely _right_ it felt – how much he liked this feeling of home and family. How much he wanted it. Needed it. Even as exhausted as he was, as worried about everything he might do wrong to screw up this baby's life, he realized he was happy.

He dropped his handful of tiny socks and turned to catch a startled Cas in a massive hug.

"Dean?" Cas asked as he brought his arms up to return it. "Are you all right?"

Without easing up on the pressure even a little bit, Dean mumbled into his shoulder, "It's nothing, Cas. Just...thanks. I couldn't do any of this without you."

The great, black wings swept forward to wrap around them both, warm and comforting.

"I'm grateful to have you in my life as well." Cas pulled back just far enough to meet Dean's eyes. It should have been awkward and weird, but like most things with Cas, it wasn't. "With you, I finally feel like I belong. I have a home."

"Damn ri-" Dean stopped and made a face. " _Darn_ right, you do."

Gabriel's voice rang out from the living room. "Deeeeeeeeeeeeean! Your son puked on me!"

Rolling his eyes so hard he was kind of surprised they didn't fall right out of his head, Dean gave a long-suffering sigh. "Be there in a sec!" he hollered. Pulling away from Cas right then was even harder than getting out of bed for 3 a.m. feedings.

He paused in the doorway on his way out. "I'll be right back."

"Gabriel needs rescuing. I understand," Cas told him, totally straight-faced. Sometimes it was tricky as heck to read Cas's dry sense of humor.

"Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeean!"

"Oh, for pete's sake, I'm coming!"

As he stomped down the hall to the living room, Dean could hear Cas chuckling softly from the utility room. It was awfully good to hear him laugh, too.

* * *

**Final A/N: Thank you for taking this journey with me! I appreciate every single one of you more than I can say, especially those of you who left reviews – your feedback and encouragement means the world. A lot of love went into this story, and I couldn't have done it without tons of support and mad beta skillz from Mr. Cinch, Mama Cinch, vickih, Kiraboo, and Steve-O the Arsonist. Thanks so much, guys!**


	43. Chapter 43

**ANGELS AND DEMONS F.A.Q.**

**What is the otherworld?**

The otherworld (or the ether) is the non-physical realm that exists in tandem with our own. It's home to demons.

**What are demons?**

Demons are incorporeal creatures of the otherworld. Their only source of sustenance is human life energy, which they take by crossing the barrier into the physical realm and killing humans. The average demon doesn't live very long, as it's difficult and dangerous to cross the barrier for food. But demons reproduce rapidly, so their population is always strong.

**What are angels?**

Angels are created from demons. They also subsist on human life energy, but in a symbiotic way rather than a predatory one. They are bound to a specific human bloodline, and when that bloodline ends, so does the angel. If the bloodline is uninterrupted, angels can live several centuries before dying of old age.

**Are there other supernatural creatures besides angels and demons?**

Angels and demons are no more supernatural than humans. They just originate from a different dimension. As to werewolves, ghosts, zombies, and the like – no. They don't exist here except in fiction.

**What are halos and why do angels have them, but demons don't?**

When a demon is bound to a bloodline and changed into an angel, it becomes sustained by the life energy of every living human in that bloodline. The halo is their grace – a visible mark of that constant energy flow. It's the energy source that allows them to fly, to heal other angels or any humans in their line, to cross to the otherworld, and even just to live.

**Do angels and demons look just like humans but with halos or wings?**

More or less, yes. In addition to the more obvious halos and wings, both angels and demons also have a slightly different musculature of the chest, shoulders, and back to allow for their wings. They also can (but don't always) have vibrant eye colors, sometimes ones not seen in humans like violet or yellow.

**Angels can't heal just anyone?**

No. Angels can heal other angels, but not themselves. Angels can heal humans, but only those within their bound line.

**How do you make an angel?**

When there is need for a new angel, an existing angel steals a fledgling demon from the ether. A binding ceremony is immediately performed to bind the child to the human bloodline. The newborn angel then stays with the existing angel to grow and learn.

**Then where did the first angel come from?**

No one knows for certain. The current popular theory is that demons used to raid freely within human populations. At some point, perhaps during such a raid, a human and a demon mixed blood and formed a faint bond – a simple precursor to modern bonds. The mutual benefits were discovered, and through trial and error, the process for deliberately forming the bond evolved. These more elaborately bound demons eventually changed so much, they could no longer be considered demons.

**Once angels are bound, do they forget their existence as demons?**

No, but as with human childhood memories, they fade and are often distorted or lost. They know where they come from.

**If demons are non-physical, how do they come to earth?**

Once they cross the barrier, they are forced into a physical form. They appear mostly human except for their large, black wings. Only strong, adult demons can make it through to earth, and even the strongest cannot hold themselves here for long before they're pulled back by the ether.

**If demons can't stay here, then how do angels?**

When a fledgling is bound to a human bloodline, the process also binds them to the physical plane. They are anchored on earth by the link to the line, but still straddle the two worlds, and are able to cross from the earth to the ether and back. When demons cross through, the entirety of their being crosses, so they fully manifest, wings and all. Angels are tethered to both worlds, and their wings are the link between them – thus, angel wings are incorporeal and invisible to the human eye.

**Can't angels reproduce without stealing demon babies?**

No. Once bound, angels cannot reproduce on their own. Demons breed rapidly, but live short lives. Angels live long lives, but cannot produce offspring.

**How often are angels created?**

Raising an angel isn't unusual, but a new angel is only raised if it's necessary – if an existing angel is old and near death or if the human family has grown and one angel can no longer effectively protect them all. Stealing a fledgling is risky, so it's not done lightly.

**If a human dies without having children, can the angel switch families?**

Yes, provided there is someone else of the same bloodline – siblings, cousins, niblings, etc. The bloodline is only valid from the source down, meaning the individual whose blood is used to bind the angel is the top of the line. For example (assuming everyone were alive), if Dean were the source, the resulting angel would be bound to him and any descendants, but not Sam or John. If John were the source, the angel would be bound to him, Dean, Sam, and any future descendants, but not Henry. If a childless human dies and is the last of their line, the angel will die.

**Can angels die even if their bloodline still lives?**

Yes. Angels aren't all-powerful. They can be hurt and killed. Other angels can heal them or they can heal the same way humans do, but if they're injured too severely, they will die.

**What if my angel dies? Can I get a new one?**

If there's another angel somewhere in the bloodline, then a new angel can be raised to replace the one that died. If that was the last angel of the line, then there can't be any more for that individual human, since the binding ceremony requires the blood of the human, the fledgling, and an angel already bound to that line.

**Can I have more than one angel?**

Yes. If two humans – each with their own angel – reproduce, then both of those angels will be bound to any children. It's not uncommon, though if there were another person in the family without an angel – a sibling or cousin to one of the adults – then one of those angels might shift to that family member. If the two original parents have no other family, then both angels will stay.

**Do angels live with their humans?**

Not usually. Though they often spend a lot of time with their humans, most angels live in barracks with others from their garrisons. Humans consider angels to be family.

**What do angels do all day?**

Angels protect the bloodline to which they are bound. They heal the sick and injured. But most of their time is taken up defending the physical realm from demons – guarding the barrier with their garrisons and killing as many demons as they can catch trying to break through.

**How do angels kill demons?**

The same way demons kill angels – any way they can. Usually it's done with knives, as angels always carry a blade with them. Technically, humans can kill demons, too, but they don't often have the chance. Demons are fast, strong, and vicious, and by default, are ambush hunters as they push through the barrier between worlds. It makes them very difficult for humans to kill.

**Can angels answer prayers?**

Angels can hear prayers from anyone within their bloodline. If a human is in trouble, they can call for help from their angel by praying. They don't answer prayers like granting wishes, however. They don't have that sort of power.

**What if I need help, but can't pray for some reason?**

Then help might not come. If an angel is physically close enough, they can feel what their humans feel – pain, strong emotion, etc. The farther away they are, the weaker the connection. They can hear prayer from anywhere, but if their human cannot pray, the angel might not ever become aware of the danger.

**Why do demons let angels steal their babies?**

They don't. That's why raising an angel is dangerous. An angel must find a suitable fledgling and try to snatch it without being seen. Otherwise, demons will follow and try to get the fledgling back.

**Do demons have families?**

Yes, but they're not so closely knit as the average human family. Their lives are short and brutal. Fledglings cannot cross the barrier, and so strong adults must bring back life energy for them until they're strong enough to procure their own. After they're self-sufficient, they mostly only care about themselves.

**Why don't angels and demons get along if they're essentially the same creature?**

Though angels are made from demons, they aren't the same. Demons believe angels to be child thieving monsters that prevent them from feeding freely on the humans. Angels see demons as murderous animals. They believe demons to be uncivilized, and that transforming a demon child to an angel is a mercy – that they're saving the fledgling from a cruel life.

* * *

**CASTIEL FAQ**

**Why does Cas have wings?**

Castiel's binding ritual was interrupted. Normally, a fledgling's blood is mixed with the blood of a human and that of an angel bound to that human's line. The demon's blood is of the ether. The human blood anchors the child to both the physical plane and to that specific family. The angel's blood provides the link between the worlds, allowing the child to live permanently in the physical realm, but also to cross the barrier into the otherworld. Castiel's blood was never mixed with the angel Hannah's in the ritual – thus leaving him bound permanently to the earth. He cannot cross the barrier any more than a human can. He has no link to the ether, and so his wings are physically manifested.

**Why does Cas have a halo, and why didn't he know he had it?**

Castiel has a halo for the same reason angels do. His life is sustained by the life energy of the Winchesters. As a demon, he had no halo, but he'd never had a physical body. He gained a body and the halo at roughly the same time, so had no "before" to compare to. While he would've been able to see it in a clear mirror, he only ever saw his reflection in less perfect surfaces – water, metal, glass, etc. Halos are too diaphanous to see in such a poor surface.

**Seriously, though, what exactly is Cas? Angel or demon or what?**

Castiel is neither and both. Since the ritual was disrupted, he has some features of both, but also is unique in other ways.

**Why did Cas stay small for so long?**

Because the binding ritual was incomplete, his bond with the Winchester bloodline was weak. It was enough to sustain him as he was, but not enough for him to grow, and not enough for him to recognize the link to John. When Dean was born many years later, it strengthened the bond, and when Castiel healed him at the pond, it completed it. From that point on, he grew as he should.

**Why didn't Cas hear prayers before, and why does he now?**

The incomplete bond with the Winchester line didn't allow for it. Once the bond was complete, he slowly gained the ability to feel emotion from Dean and Sam as the link between them strengthened over time. Dean's desperate emotional state the night he nearly drank himself to death finally broke through and allowed Castiel to hear his prayers.

**Why didn't Cas kill that baby?**

As a demon, he would have without hesitation. Once a demon is bound to a human line, it becomes affected by human emotion. Even though Castiel wasn't fully bound, it was enough to give him some compassion for the frightened child.

**Why were all those angels trying to kill Cas?**

Wings = demons. That's really all the angels took the time to see. The hatred between the two species is intense, and both demons and angels are dangerous enough to each other that neither can afford any hesitation. Kill first, don't bother to ask questions later.

**Why isn't Cas affected by angel wards or demon traps?**

Because he's neither angel nor demon. Angel wards repel anything with a link to the otherworld – i.e. angels. Devil's traps work on anything not of the earth. Castiel has no link to the otherworld, so angel wards have no effect, and he's as bound to the earth as a human, so devil's traps are ineffective as well.

**Sooooooo are Cas and Dean, like... _together_ or what?**

Not romantically. Consider it an epic friendship, a profound bond, or a bromance for the ages.

* * *

" **OTHER" FAQ**

**Was Mary killed in an ordinary fire or was there something else going on?**

The house fire that killed Mary was just a terrible accident. Faulty wiring started the fire in the void space between the ceiling and attic, and by the time anyone realized what was happening, it had already spread and weakened the structure. The ceiling in the bedroom collapsed, trapping Mary. Even if he'd tried to pull her out first, Gabriel couldn't have saved her.

**What about John? Did he die in a targeted attack?**

No. Even if demons were organized and interested enough to target a specific person, they couldn't. It's too difficult to break through the barrier. Demons search for a live body, and aim for it. Unfortunately, demon attacks are fairly common. John was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

**What happened to Gabriel when he was banished?**

He couldn't hear or feel the boys or go anywhere near them. Though the banishment severed his link to Dean, Gabriel was still bound to Sam, so he could still draw life energy from him as usual. Had there been other Campbells around somewhere, he could have joined them, but Sam and Dean were the last living members of the Campbell line. Instead, Gabriel stayed with his garrison and focused on his duties there.

* * *

**If you have any additional questions not answered here, please feel free to ask. Thanks for reading!**


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